


And Grace Will Lead Us Home

by eldritchMortician



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Baptism, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gaslighting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jealousy, John Seed being John Seed, Light Angst, Manipulation, Moral Philosophy, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Tattooing, Past Child Abuse, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Tension, Sibling Rivalry, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-07 19:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 45,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritchMortician/pseuds/eldritchMortician
Summary: Eden's Gate means to save the lives of those they can, by bringing them into the family. By force if necessary.Joseph has never questioned his mission, never questioned what he's been called to do. Never questioned the Voice. The Collapse is coming, and soon. His followers need him now more than ever. It's no time to get distracted.But there's just *something* about this lost sheep he can't dismiss.Of course having Joseph's attention is an excellent way to attract John's as well. Being between the two brothers isn't a safe place to be.After all, there's very good reasons why John is afraid of Joseph.And very good reasons everyone is afraid of John.
Relationships: John Seed & Original Female Character(s), Joseph Seed & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 72





	1. I Will Be Your Father Figure

**Author's Note:**

> A bit AU. I started this because I'm interested in exploring a bit of the Seed family dynamics, particularly John and Joseph. May or may not intersect with game canon, depending on the way things go in the story. 
> 
> Also because there's a reason that John, for all his violence and anger, is a bit afraid of Joseph, and I really wanted to play with that and discover why. 
> 
> Probable eventual smut.

It had been a productive day for Eden’s Gate. 

It was Jacob who’d suggested taking the bar, a small, out of the way place in his territory. It wasn’t as popular as some of the town centers, but he’d noticed it got a fair crowd of sinners on Friday and Saturday nights. It made it an easy target to scoop up a sizeable group, and the demon liquor made the patrons slower to react than they may otherwise have been. Only one or two of them were armed, and the bartender had a shotgun, but that was no match at all for Jacob’s Chosen. It was over very quickly, with only a few casualties on either side. 

Joseph gripped Jacob’s shoulder as he stepped toward the kneeling sinners, held at gunpoint, not daring to move. John prowled behind him, probably wrestling with the temptation of so much alcohol nearby, and Faith flitted about humming, heedless of the destruction.

“Excellent work, brother,” Joseph murmured, surveying the group before him. “Many souls for the saving.” His shoes crunched on broken glass as he came forward. Most of them had their heads down, trying not to draw attention. One or two stared defiantly.

“Fuck you!” spat a man near the edges of the group, and received a rifle butt to the head for his troubles. 

Joseph held his hands out to still the murmurs that ran through his followers and the sinners alike. “Enough,” he said, voice ringing out above the noise. There was something about that night, he could feel it. More than the larger than average group of sinners, more than the ease with which they’d taken the small backwater bar. Something tugged at him. Not the Voice, quite, but something near it. He scanned the bar patrons, but saw nothing out of the ordinary just yet. Curious. “My children, please, calm yourselves. I know you may not understand. I know you may fear. I know you wish it could be different, and I do as well. You may not come to us willingly now, but I tell you, we love you. We are here to save you. To bring you through the Collapse and into Eden’s Gate!”

He felt the fire stoking in his chest, the fervor of knowing the rightness of what he was doing. They didn’t understand, not yet, but he was  _ saving _ them. Despite themselves, perhaps, but it had to be done. 

“We will accept you, we will welcome you, children. We will wash away your sins and bring you to the path of righteousness. I am your father, and I love all of my children, even when they stray.” He motioned his siblings and they closed ranks around him. He lowered his voice. “Brothers, sister… I wouldn’t burden one of you with so many. See which of them are suitable for you each, but I will have final say.” It wasn’t how they usually did things, and he sensed the confusion in them. They would never question him, of course, but he knew they wondered what it was that changed. 

He wasn’t certain himself, but knew that it meant something. The words rolled off his tongue without thought, and he knew he was being directed. He nodded to one of the Chosen. “Bring them. One at a time.”

One by one the kneeling sinners were brought before them. Some fighting and having to be subdued, some whimpering and needing to be dragged. A precious few walking without a fuss. Jacob took the majority of the fighters, leaving John and Faith to select from the others. Joseph looked in each face, searched every pair of eyes, and nodded distractedly at his siblings choices. Again, nothing seemed out of place, even as they ran slowly out of kneeling sinners.

Then, the Chosen marched up someone new.

Hope County wasn’t large. Joseph had seen almost everyone at least a time or two. He couldn’t name them all, or recognize them all of course, but this one he would have remembered.

She didn’t fight, or make them drag her, though she walked reluctantly even at gunpoint. She wasn’t tall, but she was attractively curvy, with an otherwise delicate build. Thick red waves of hair was all he could see of her initially as she approached, head bowed. He smelled the drink on her, saw it in the slight sway of her body as she tried to keep steady. Filling herself up with alcohol to make up for the emptiness inside. Lost and defeated like so many others.

Jacob wore a look of disinterest; he wanted soldiers, and she was clearly not of that type. John, however, stepped closer immediately, tipping up her chin with his fingertips. She was lovely, with fine features, full lips, and large green eyes. Frightened, yes, but there was still a little fire there. She met John’s gaze steadily for a moment before her eyes flicked to Joseph. 

It was an odd sensation. He’d never seen her before, and yet there was something familiar there. Something compelling about the way she met his gaze as though she, too, searched for something in his eyes. She tugged at him in some indefinable way. He stilled himself, listening, feeling for any sense of direction from God.

Jacob would find her unsuitable, that was easy enough to see. She was probably stronger than she looked, but she was far too soft to be a soldier of the type Jacob wanted. Faith was peering at her with interest. It was possible that could be a good fit, though the woman’s gaze was too steady, too sharp to bury under a haze of Bliss. 

John... wanted her very much. The smile that spread across his handsome features said all too clearly that he was already allowing himself to be tempted to indulge in sin. Whether it was lust or sadism, or if indeed there was much of a line between the two for John, Joseph wasn’t certain. Either way it would be a distraction, and likely break her entirely in the end. John tended not to be very careful with his toys.

“I will take this lamb,” Joseph heard himself say. He almost took it back. He had much to do, and many burdens on his time and energy already. But something had made him say it. He would humble himself and accept direction. 

Jacob raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. John immediately looked petulant. 

“But Jo--Father,” he corrected himself quickly when Joseph looked at him. “You’re working yourself to the bone as it is. And this one’s not even baptized, much less confessed and Atoned. I could at least take her long enough for that--” he trailed off, dropping his gaze as Joseph stared at him silently. 

“John, I said I would take this one,” he said, his voice laced with iron. “I can baptize her. I can see to her confession and Atonement. I said the final decision was mine. This is my decision. Understood?”

John looked down, nodding. “Yes, Joseph,” he said softly. 

Joseph gripped John’s shoulder briefly to communicate his forgiveness, then turned back to the young woman. She’d watched the whole exchange closely, and he saw the mounting fear in her eyes, the tenseness of her stance. She wanted to flee, but dared not. Gently, he put his hands to her cheeks, cupping her face and forcing her gaze on him. 

“I feel that God has plans for you, my child,” he told her, smiling softly.

She said nothing, though her eyes widened and she swallowed. He felt a tremble run through her and nodded approvingly. One  _ ought _ to fear God, after all. Keeping one hand on her cheek, he reached the other toward Faith, not letting the girl break eye contact. The moment the Bliss flower was in his hand, he stroked it over the redhead’s cheek.

“Now, breathe deep, my child,” he said softly. “I’m going to take you home.”


	2. Unwashed and Somewhat Slightly Dazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night of drinking turns into a morning meeting Father Joseph.

She’d almost left half an hour ago, but the bartender had taken her keys. Even after five (maybe six) whiskey and cokes, Olivia knew driving was probably a bad idea, but walking was arguably worse. Among the wildlife she’d seen in her relatively short time in Hope County were wolves, bears, and even a cougar. It wasn’t as though there was a taxi service either, and she wasn’t about to get in a stranger’s car, not with the disappearances. So, she’d been sitting at a table alone, nursing a coffee, when all hell broke loose. 

She had the presence of mind to dive under the table when the shooting started, and stayed there as long as she could after it stopped. Her perceptions were fuzzy; it was hard to tell just what had happened, but before she could work it out, she was grabbed roughly by a gun-toting man and thrown to her knees with everyone else in the center of the bar. 

Between the buzz of alcohol in her head and the pounding of her own heart, she caught only snatches of what was going on. Enough to know that she didn’t want to call attention to herself. The man in the yellow-lensed glasses was some kind of religious nut, spouting things about love and acceptance, as though he and his group hadn’t just shot people. 

She tried to be as quiet as possible as they dragged people one by one to stand before the four leaders of the group. The religious nut seemed in charge (had she seen him somewhere before?). With him were a soldier type in camo, a girl in a white dress with flowers in her hair, and a slick, handsome man she thought looked vaguely familiar as well. Whatever they were doing involved dividing up the survivors and taking them away to who knew where.

Olivia began to deeply regret not just getting drunk at home. 

Finally it was her turn. She climbed to her feet when the man nudged her with his rifle, and tried to walk as steadily and with as much dignity as she could. It hadn’t seemed to matter if people fought; they were outnumbered and the attackers had guns. The options seemed to be walking or dragging, so she figured she might as well cooperate. And, well, in the end there was part of her that didn’t care all that much what happened anyway. 

She kept her head down, trying to avoid eye contact. Unfortunately, it seemed they weren’t going to let her get away with that. 

The slick, handsome one tipped her face up so he could see her. In other circumstances, she might have enjoyed looking at him. He was attractive, with a neatly trimmed beard and beautifully blue eyes. He was dressed well, and smelled of expensive cologne. He smiled when he saw her, like she was his favorite flavor cupcake. She looked away nervously, at the leader of the group, and was transfixed. 

He had his hair back and knotted tightly, and his clothing, while not as elaborate as the other man’s, was striking in its black and white contrast. A vest buttoned over his flat stomach, and a rosary wrapped loosely around one hand. His eyes behind the yellow lenses were just as blue as the other man’s, but what froze her was their intensity. When she met his unblinking gaze it felt like he could see straight into her soul. She wanted to look away but somehow didn’t dare. 

It was he who broke eye contact, saying he would ‘take’ her. Where, he didn’t say. She was no part of the conversation as he and the first one--John--exchanged words. John feared this man he called Joseph. She could see it in the way he froze and the lowering of his eyes as Joseph chided him. And then that uncanny gaze was on her again, along with his hands, almost tender as he cupped her face. 

“I feel that God has plans for you, my child,” he said. His voice slithered over her like silk, calm and gentle and yet somehow unsettlingly intense. 

Then, he was pressing a flower to her face, and whatever else he said was lost in a sudden, almost euphoric haze. 

* * *

The next morning was not nearly so pleasant. 

Olivia woke up in a small bedroom. She was still in her clothes from the night before, but someone had taken her shoes off and put her into a comfortable bed. Fortunately, there was also a bathroom connected to the room, and it was in easy distance to stumble to. 

She’d resigned herself to a hangover even before she’d finished drinking the night before, but whatever she’d been drugged with--that flower, she remembered--reacted poorly with the whiskey. She vomited into the toilet, and regretted not eating more as she continued to retch bile and stomach acid. Her head throbbed, her body was covered in sweat, she felt like she was never going to stop trying to throw up, and she had no idea where she was. 

After what felt like an eternity the heaving subsided, and she lay on the cool tiles panting. The bathroom was neat and orderly, with an old claw-footed tub, white porcelain tile, and a pattern of yellow daisies on the curtains. What she’d seen of the bedroom was much the same; tidy and almost cheerful, in pale colors and polished wood, with sunlight streaming through the windows. She’d half expected to wind up in a dungeon or some sort of prison cell, so it was something of a relief.

She lay long moments on the floor, not certain if she was unable, or just unwilling to get up again. The cooler air chilled her, sweaty as she was, and soon she was shivering. Before she could try to pull herself upright, she heard the bedroom door open. 

She sat up, back against the tub as Joseph entered, dressed as neatly as he had been the night before. His expression betrayed nothing as he surveyed her, disheveled and sprawled on the bathroom floor.

“Whatever you drugged me with made me sick,” she told him, trying to sound accusing, though her voice trembled.

Joseph knelt, sliding an arm around her and helping her to her feet. “I think what you drank last night had a bit to do with it, don’t you?” he asked, his voice mildly reproachful. His arm around her was slender but wiry, like he was made of steel. He supported her as she regained her balance, and guided her toward the bed.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, frowning. “Where the hell am I, and how can I leave?” She felt terrible, and wouldn’t have wanted to try driving or walking any distance, but she knew for damn sure she didn’t want to be there.

Before she could protest, he sat her on the bed, keeping a hand on her shoulder. He met her eyes and again she felt the frightening intensity of his gaze. “My name is Joseph,” he said. “You are a guest in my home. As such, I would ask that you refrain from cursing, please.” He indicated the nightstand, where a heavy mug steamed with something that smelled faintly spicy. “I’ve brought you some ginger tea. It will help to settle your stomach.” He ignored her last question.

She hadn’t been admonished for cursing since she was a child, and somehow the feeling was quite similar. She felt an embarrassed flush creeping up her cheeks. “Sorry,” she mumbled, looking away from those piercing eyes. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on yet, and if she wanted to get out of this, she would need information. She changed tactics, trying to be polite despite her hangover. “I just… I don’t know where I am or why.” She glanced at the tea. “Or if that’s drugged.” She put on a crooked little smile as she glanced up. 

To her relief, he smiled ever so slightly. “It isn’t drugged. I rather think you’ve had enough substances for the time being.” His hand on her shoulder loosened a little. “Go ahead and sit back and cover up again. You’re trembling. Sip your tea, and I’ll be right back.” He let go of her and went into the bathroom. She heard water running. 

She glanced at the bedroom door. He’d left her alone. She could try to run, if the door wasn’t locked. Somehow she doubted that she would make it far. If the door by some miracle wasn’t locked or guarded, she’d still have to contend with her legs that felt like rubber. Concerned she would regret it, she did as he told her, propping herself up on pillows and pulling the covers over her legs. Experimentally, she took a sip of the tea. It didn’t taste drugged, at least. 

Joseph came back with a washcloth, his sleeves rolled up his forearms to reveal peeks of tattoos and scars. Before she could ask what he was doing, he leaned down, gently wiping at her face. “You’ve had a difficult time this morning,” he said. His voice was soothing and gentle. “Though I suspect this is not the first time, is it, Olivia?”

She tensed, looking up at him. “How did you know my name?”

He smiled slightly, smoothing back her hair and sitting on the edge of the bed. “You had your driver’s license with you. I thank God that He kept you from driving in the state you were in last night.”

Olivia pulled back a little, half remembering the night before. He’d been ranting about God, and being saved. “Actually, you should thank the bartender who took my keys,” she said.

Joseph only smiled beatifically, finishing washing her face. “There. That should feel better. I’ll have one of my people get you some clean clothes later so you can change once you feel up to a shower.”

It was hard to know what to say to him. He didn’t seem to have the least care that he’d kidnapped her after his followers shot up a bar. She held the mug between her hands, white-knuckled. “Why am I here?” she asked. 

“Because God brought you to me, dear child,” he said. His gaze on her was utterly convinced, utterly sincere. She tried to suppress a shudder as she realized she was trapped with a madman.

And all at once, she realized who he was.

She was new to Hope County, only having moved into her little cabin a few months ago. The town was fairly insular. Not many people wanted to talk too much to the new girl, not that she’d gone out of her way to be social. But she’d seen the billboards. The posters. Who the hell could miss the giant statue across the lake, and the hollywood-style YES up the mountain? She remembered, through the haze of whiskey, seeing the flower-like cross on shirts and tattoos. 

Even the new girl heard the stories about Eden’s Gate. Warnings about people disappearing. Cautions about roads never to drive down. She’d been much too drunk the night before to recognize them, but now the realization stole her breath.

This was Father Joseph Seed.

And she was well and truly screwed. 


	3. Welcome to the Hotel California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A guest in Joseph's home may as well be a prisoner.
> 
> And when Father Joseph asks you to come to dinner, well, you come to dinner.

Fortunately, Joseph left her alone much of the day. He never specifically said she had to stay in her room, and when she checked the door wasn’t locked, but she had the impression he wanted her contained. 

He never made threats, exactly. Never raised his voice above that soft and even tone. He had, however, mentioned casually that she could ask his ‘chosen’ if she needed anything. Two were stationed in the hallway outside the room. Hard looking men with sidearms, wearing shirts emblazoned with the cult’s flower cross. They’d been alert when she peeked out the door, one enquiring politely, if she needed anything. She shook her head and closed the door, noting that the lock was on the other side. Because of course it was. 

There was still the matter of the hangover anyway. She would never get far feeling the way she did, and indeed even with the ginger tea she made a few more trips to the bathroom to throw up. 

The bed was comfortable at least, and one of the men stepped in not too long after the retching subsided with more tea and thick slices of toast slathered with golden butter. If she hadn’t been doing so poorly she might have refused it, but in her state it was like a gift from heaven. Once she had something on her stomach and a cool cloth on her forehead, it was easy enough to relax. Her body was begging for rest, and the bed was comfortable. 

She woke to a soft tap on the door. The sky outside was stained red, evening light filtering warmly through the pale curtains and making patches on the floor. The cloth she had on her forehead was lying on the pillow, dry except for where she had, embarrassingly, drooled on it. She sat up slowly, realizing she felt a bit better for the rest. 

Joseph didn’t wait for her to call out, entering with his eyes on the ground at first, a cloth bundle in one hand. “Olivia?” he asked softly, before glancing up. “How are you feeling?”

He made her nervous. She couldn’t put her finger on why, exactly, but there was something about him that set her on edge. He’d done nothing threatening so far, but she couldn’t help but feel he was a coiled snake. “Better,” she said softly, and added “thanks” belatedly. 

Joseph nodded, closing the door behind him. “That’s good,” he said. “I brought you some fresh clothing. I thought you’d probably want a shower and perhaps you would feel up to joining me for dinner.” He gave her a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes.

Olivia watched him as he stepped forward, putting the clothing on the end of the bed. There was a fluid grace about him, relaxed, alert, deliberate. He was slender, but she had no illusions of winning if she should try to fight with him. Still, that had never been her preferred form of combat. She smiled a bit, coquettishly, glancing at the bundle of cloth and back up to him. “Really? Dinner with the Father Joseph Seed? That sounds like an honor half your people would give their right arm for. What did I do to deserve it?”

For a moment he went still, and she feared she had gone too far. His gaze, unsettlingly intense and unblinking behind his yellow lenses settled on her, pinning her like a butterfly on a board. And then he sighed, like a parent dealing with a bratty child. “Your sarcasm betrays you, daughter,” he said calmly. “Have no fear.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. Too quickly. 

In answer he only smiled slightly, cupping her face in both hands. She cursed herself for stiffening. He leaned in, laying a soft kiss on her forehead. “Have your shower, you will feel better. Change clothes. Come to dinner.”

“I… okay,” she heard herself say. She wasn’t sure what it was that pushed her to agree. If it was fear, or something else. There was something compelling about him, and how often would she have the opportunity to have ringside seats to the rantings of a madman? Perhaps if she kept telling herself that she would believe it. 

He nodded, pressing his forehead to hers briefly and smiling at her again. “Please, take your time. Someone will escort you once you’re ready.”

There was little she could do then but keep her word. Once he’d gone, Olivia got into the shower. The soaps and shampoos were fairly basic, probably picked up at some sort of bulk discount, but she wasn’t in a position to be picky at the moment. She stayed under the hot spray as long as she could justify, but eventually she knew she had to push forward. Joseph was waiting for her. 

The clothing he’d left her was a surprise. 

After glimpsing his people milling around, she’d more or less expected something utilitarian, perhaps a sweatshirt and pants, or something of that nature. Instead, she found a soft dress of green cotton. It was modest, with sleeves hitting mid-forearm, a fairly high neckline, and a hem past her knees. Still, it was comfortable, and even a little flattering, tucking in at the waist and flaring over her hips. There was underwear as well, folded up into the dress, white and plain, as well as a wireless cotton bra that was a bit snug on her curvy form. She considered leaving it off, but the dress was thin and clingy enough she wasn’t comfortable without it. She tucked her necklace under the dress, unwilling to leave it off, but not wanting anyone to see it.

She was glad it had still been under her shirt when she woke up. She’d chosen the chain carefully, with a clasp that would be unlikely to give, and links that were durable but delicate enough to escape casual notice. She squeezed the two gold rings that hung from it before she put it away under the bodice. For luck, or strength, or just reassurance she wasn’t certain.

She dallied as long as she dared. She had no makeup to put on, and nothing but a simple brush to run through her hair. Joseph hadn’t bothered to provide any stockings or shoes, so she padded barefoot to the door of her room and composed herself.

God only knew what he wanted with her, since he seemed to think God had some sort of plan for her. She doubted he’d react well if she told him what she thought of all that.

Composing herself, she left the room, finding two armed guards outside. The older of the two, a man with dark hair and an unkempt beard, inclined his head. “Ma’am. Are you ready to meet the Father?” he asked. They were ever so polite. 

“Sure,” she said. It felt uncomfortable and nerve-wracking to be so at someone else’s mercy. In clothes that weren’t hers, without the means to even make herself up and control how she presented herself. The dress was fine, but hardly something she’d try to brave the woods in, and the lack of shoes made it even more unlikely she’d be able to venture beyond the porch. She had little doubt that was by design. 

The man conducted her through the house, and she tried to take stock of where the exits were. The front was almost certainly guarded, but it was good to know where it was at least. The place was neatly kept and the interior at least was sparsely populated. A few people moved around doing chores, and doubtless there were guards outside and sprinkled around in the house. There were stairs in the foyer leading to a second floor, and she glimpsed a room with a large desk off to one side. 

She followed her keeper to a dining room, well appointed but not elaborate, the table set for two. On one wall was a portrait of the four who’d been there at the bar attack, Joseph seated in the center of the composition. 

Joseph himself stood up from his seat at the head of the table as she entered, nodding to the man who’d shown her in. As he withdrew, Joseph pulled out the chair at his left side where a place had been set for her. 

“Please have a seat. Thank you for joining me,” he said. His voice was pleasant enough, almost warm. She didn’t see much point in arguing with him, so she sat down.

Joseph took his seat again, folding his hands as his people carried covered dishes and a pitcher out of a doorway she assumed led to a kitchen. If nothing else, it smelled good. She sat quietly as they served the Father first, and then her, golden skinned roasted chicken, fresh steamed vegetables, and salt-crusted little potatoes. Once they withdrew she moved to pick up her fork, when Joseph's chiding voice stopped her mid-motion.

"Shall we give thanks?" He said. His tone made it quite clear it was not a question. 

"O-of course. Sorry," she mumbled. She put her hands on her lap and bowed her head. It was uncomfortable; she hadn't done this since she was a child, and she had no particular desire to revisit those memories. Still, she didn't want to anger him either. After the violence of the previous night she wasn't eager to test him over something so small.

Joseph gave a small nod and raised his eyes heavenward. “God has seen fit to give us this day, this food, and this fellowship. For this we are grateful. He has given us time to save our brothers and sisters before the Collapse, and He has delivered this lost child into my hands. May He grant me the wisdom to know her purpose, and may He grant her the humility to accept it.”

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to goad her with that, so she kept silent until he picked up his silverware. His movements were precise and measured, carving his meat neatly, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. She did her best to keep her eyes on her food, though it was impossible not to steal glances at him. 

He was frightening, and clearly a madman, but by the same token she could understand, a little, why he had such a following. There was something about him that was compelling. Something about him made her want to please him, despite everything that had happened. She had to stop herself from speaking, tempted to fill the silence.

“You have questions,” he said. “Ask them. There’s no need to hold back.” His gaze was entirely too intense, and she wasn’t sure she ought to believe him. Even so, he was waiting for her to speak and there was little else she could do. 

She took a deep breath. “Am I--am I going to be some kind of human sacrifice or something?” The question spilled out before she could stop herself. After all, wasn’t that what cults did?

To her surprise, Joseph paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and laughed. His smile seemed genuine, as did his amusement. “You have a fanciful imagination,” he said wryly. For a moment the mask slipped and he was just a man. “Popular culture has muddied the definition of a sacrifice. We sacrifice by giving up something we would rather keep for ourselves. The best of a flock of sheep, the first and best fruits of a harvest. Our time we could spend in leisure, our work we could profit from, the giving up of selfish pursuits. Those are sacrifices. A person none of us know, and have no attachment to, not among my flock? That seems to go against the spirit, wouldn’t you agree?”

Once he put it that way, it did seem like a silly idea. Olivia ducked her head and nodded. “Well, yeah. I suppose so.”

“So no, Olivia. You were not brought here to be a human sacrifice. More to the point that is not something we do. Someone may sacrifice themselves for Eden’s Gate, I will not say there have never been martyrs for our faith, but those freely chose to give of themselves.”

She was skeptical that the giving was entirely free. The devotion that his followers showed to Father Joseph was fanatical. She had little doubt they’d down any kool-aid he served. “I’ve heard of you,” she said finally. “I saw the flyers up in one of the shops. That statue and the YES sign on the mountain… those are yours too, right?”

He nodded. “Well, the YES sign is my brother John’s. As for the statue, my flock wished it done, and I hope that following the Collapse it can serve as a symbol of hope for our people.”

It was unsurprising that he’d jumped right into the doomsday narrative. Cults had a tendency to go that route along with the violence. She was sure if she checked around she’d find Joseph had a harem as well. Not wanting to delve too deeply into the ‘collapse’ thought, she merely nodded, concentrating on her dinner for a moment. “So, why  _ am _ I here?”

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “God brought you to me. I felt it when I entered that debauched place. I knew there was something of great importance there. And when I looked into your eyes, I realized it was you. You are important, Olivia. Special.” His voice lowered, the cadence gentle. He reached out, cupping her cheek in one hand. She forced herself to stay still. “So special. And so sad.”

She looked away then, tearing her gaze from his unblinking blue eyes. It felt like he could see right through her and she hated it. “Who said I was sad?” she muttered.

“You were alone. Sitting in a bar in the late evening. In a town you’ve only recently moved to, where you know no one. You were quite drunk, you must have been there a long time, and had quite a few drinks. Are you going to tell me those are the actions of a happy woman?”

She couldn’t argue with that, much as she would have liked to. “It’s just--it’s a slump. I’m fine.”

“Of course,” he said, clearly not believing her for a moment. “You don’t have to tell me just now. Though I will hear you if you want to.”

Part of her wanted to. It would be a relief to tell someone--anyone--how she felt. What she had lost. Even an insane preacher. But she knew if she did she would be giving him even more power over her than he had already. She shook her head.

“Very well. Another time perhaps,” he said mildly.

She poked at her food for a long moment in silence, and he let her, seeming unperturbed by the quiet. If she was to have any hope of escape, she knew she needed information. Too many direct questions would be suspicious. But maybe--maybe--she could get him to reveal more than he meant to, if she was careful. She took a deep breath and looked up.

“Will you tell me about Eden’s Gate?”


	4. When You've Laid Your Hands Upon Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia has dinner with Father Joseph. It goes as well as one might expect.

Unsurprisingly, Father Joseph was more than happy to talk about Eden’s Gate. He seemed pleased that she’d asked, though she guessed he probably would have launched into a lecture even if she hadn’t. 

She tried to listen politely as he talked about sin, and godlessness, and the usual things that preachers went on about. Much of the difference between him and the ones on TV was a matter of intensity, and, if she were honest, charisma. His blue eyes never seemed to blink, never wavered from her. He seemed absolutely, utterly sincere. And as he spoke, it was like his words caressed her, sliding their way into her mind. It happened so slowly and subtly she didn’t even notice at first that part of her  _ wanted _ to hear more.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he asked suddenly. She wasn’t sure how or why the conversation had wound back to her. “You can feel that something has changed in the world, can’t you? That something is coming. Like the pressure and the smell of ozone before a storm.”

He seemed to want an answer, and she didn’t have one. “I mean, there are bad things happening, sure, but there’s always something going on,” she hedged. 

Joseph shook his head with an air of patience. “Child, we both know there’s more to it than that. The world is holding its breath. We’re at a tipping point. You can close your eyes to it, but your soul knows. You can numb yourself with alcohol, distract yourself with a hundred sins, but I believe you know, Olivia. I believe God brought you here for a reason.”

“I don’t believe in God.” She said it before she could stop herself, wanting to stem the tide of his ranting. He wanted her to be special. What would he do when he realized she wasn’t?

She half expected him to be angry. Instead he smiled, almost pityingly. “I know.”

His answer took her by surprise. “If you know then why are you wasting your time trying to convert me?” she asked, genuinely puzzled. 

“I’m not trying to ‘convert’ you,” he said, his tone still gentle. “I’m trying to save you. Perhaps from yourself first, but also from your sin.”

She scowled at her plate. “What sin? Maybe you should look at yourself first, marching in and shooting up bars and kidnapping people.”

“What sin is a conversation for your confession. And I don’t think we’ve reached that point just yet.” His calm, even tone was infuriating. “We all have sinned, dear child. All of us fall short, and yes, even me. However, I think you misunderstand.” He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and giving her a long, thoughtful look. “Do you enjoy swimming?”

The question came so far out of left field that she forgot to retort about the sin talk. “I… swimming? I guess. I sunburn easily so I don’t go that often…”

He nodded slightly. “Mm, my brother Jacob is a redhead as well. He had a similar problem as I recall, though he never seemed much bothered by it. You’ve never been a lifeguard, I take it.”

She shook her head, trying to figure out where the line of conversation was going. 

“Drowning people panic. They don’t realize they’re being rescued sometimes. They’ll fight the lifeguard, and put them both at risk. Would you say it’s a bad thing for the lifeguard to do if they were to knock out the person they were rescuing, so they could be assured of the safety of both parties?”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “That’s not the same.”

“The world is on the verge of the Collapse. I am only a man. I don’t know why God chose me, or why He told me what is to come. I only know that I must save those I can. I know that not everyone believes in the danger. They don’t understand, or they refuse to see it. But if I have the power to save them, shouldn’t I?” His voice was so reasonable, so sure. 

Olivia sighed, shaking her head. “But--aren’t you just causing suffering? You’re taking things, and hurting people. Because--well--because of a voice in your head.” She looked up cautiously, afraid he might be angry at that. 

“Yes, we have had to do things that are unfortunate. I would prefer a more peaceful means of preparing, but there isn’t time.” He gave her a small smile. “I’ve been called a madman before, and I very much doubt you’ll be the last to think that of me. I didn’t ask for this. I’ve prayed for this--this burden to be lifted. I wanted to be wrong. It would be so much easier if I  _ were _ mad.”

“Even if it were true, though,” she said, realizing the question of sanity wouldn’t be easily resolved. “What gives you the right to hurt people?”

“The unfortunate truth is that to save anyone, much less a sizeable group, we have to have supplies. We need protection from what’s coming, and those who would keep us from saving our brothers and sisters. It’s true we cause harm, but it’s in service of a greater good,” he said patiently.

“So, the ends justify the means?” she shot back. “It doesn’t matter how you do it as long as you get what you want?”

Joseph sighed wearily, shaking his head. “Do you think I want this?” he asked softly. “What we have built here is out of necessity. What we do here is only what’s required. Sometimes, child, there is no solution that will save everyone. Would you say it’s better to let everyone die than to sacrifice a few? Do you think it’s better to leave preparations to chance? Better to let those who could be saved live their final days in sin than to drag them to shore fighting?”

“But, you’re not sacrificing a few, you’re actively shooting people,” she said. 

“Would you be willing to kill to defend those you love?” His eyes were hard.

She looked down. There wasn’t a good answer for that. Not if he truly believed the end of the world was coming. Convincing him it wasn’t would be a task she wasn’t qualified for, and all things considered she wasn’t sure she was entirely convinced herself. She could try to discuss moral philosophy with him all night, but in the end he’d come back to where he started. He was sure he was the only thing standing between the human race and utter annihilation. With that as a motivation, anything was permissible. She almost wished he was simply out for power, or money, or women. Instead, Father Joseph was much, much more dangerous. 

He was a True Believer. 

She sighed softly. “I… suppose if that’s what you really believe it makes a sort of sense. It still feels wrong.”

“Ours is not to question the will of God,” he said. “Just know that you are safe here, and you will be saved.”

His tone was quite final, and she swallowed. “I… take it you have no intention of letting me go home.”

Again the pitying look. “Child, what would you go home to?”

His words hit her like a slap. She almost grasped at the rings hanging on the necklace, the reminder that he was right; she had nothing to go home to. A sudden flash of anger rose in her chest. “What the fuck do you know--” before she could finish the sentence his hand was around her throat, cutting off her breath. 

His grip was hard. There was no warning, no hesitation in his movement. She gagged, grabbing at his wrist.

“I believe I asked you not to curse,” he said, his voice still calm and even, his face perfectly serene. “We all sin, true, but my children know that there are consequences. It’s best you learn that now, before you do something that necessitates something more… severe.”

His gaze never wavered, staring into her eyes, his grip hard and steady even as she scrabbled at his hand. She had little doubt that he’d look very much the same, his eyes holding hers, should he decide to keep squeezing until she had no breath left. 

He released her as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, and she half-collapsed, holding the table for support as sparks of light danced behind her eyelids. She gasped for air, her throat surely bruised. She flinched as he reached over, tipping her face up just as gently as ever.

“I hope we have an understanding now?” he asked mildly. 

She was too afraid to do anything but nod. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! I've slowed down a bit with the holidays but hope to get back up to speed soon!


	5. Sister Christian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Joseph and Olivia debate moral philosophy. 
> 
> The next morning, Olivia makes a new friend: Faith Seed.

Joseph carried on the remainder of the evening as though nothing had happened. If he noticed she was quieter, which surely he did, he made no remark. He finished his dinner, admonishing her to eat as well. She obeyed, mechanically, swallowing down enough to satisfy him that she wasn’t wasting food. He seemed content to talk about the work Eden’s Gate was doing, how they provided for their own, about how John, his youngest brother who was a lawyer negotiated to buy property, to pay the flock’s mortgages and debts. How they freed their adherents from alcoholism and drug addiction and the shackles of lust and greed. 

She nodded when he seemed to want a response, murmured noncommittally, and tried very hard not to make eye contact with him. His sudden violence left her more than a little shaken. The worst part of it was she was sure he felt entirely justified. She’d disobeyed, and he’d corrected her. She didn’t want to know what a more ‘severe’ punishment would be.

He let her keep up her silence until the dinner dishes were cleared, and a young woman with dark hair brought them slices of yellow cake slathered with rich chocolate frosting, and steaming cups of coffee. Joseph poured a little cream in his cup.

“What would you say is the sin you most struggle with, Olivia?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee like he’d just asked something normal. 

She frowned, looking up at him cautiously. “I’m not sure what you consider a sin.”

He didn’t reply for a moment, taking a forkful of cake and making a pleased noise. “The cake is really quite nice. None of it store-bought. That makes a difference. We give up quality for convenience, don’t we? But taking the time and effort, as we did in simpler times, is so much better. Would you agree?” He watched her pointedly.

She could do nothing but take a bite of the cake herself. He was right; the cake was moist and delicious, the buttercream light and flavorful. “I… yes, I see what you mean,” she agreed.

“Sloth,” he said. “Not the most egregious example, I’ll grant. But what else do we give up for convenience? Or because we don’t care enough? Sloth, envy, greed, lust, gluttony, pride, wrath. Sins that can manifest in a variety of ways large and small.”

“I thought the seven deadly sins were a Catholic thing,” she ventured. “I pegged you as… more Baptist?”

Joseph smiled slightly. “Eden’s Gate is not part of any human schism. After I heard the voice of God I read everything I could. Translations of the Bible, the Koran, the Torah, Hindu writings, Shinto, Buddhism, Tao, anything I could find at every library in every place I lived or visited. Ancient mythology, new age spiritualism, everything I could find that might lead me to a better understanding. In the end, I was led to what I was meant to know. And I share that with my followers. Not Catholic, not Baptist, not any of them and yet all of them. We follow the voice of God and the knowledge he’s given me.”

There wasn’t much to say about that, and she was still wary of his… well, it hadn’t been  _ wrath _ had it? There’d been almost no emotion at all when he choked her. Whatever it had been, she wanted to avoid his ‘correction’ happening a second time. 

He tilted his head, watching her. “With that in mind?” he prompted. 

Olivia bit her lip. “I don’t know. I’m still not really clear on your distinctions. I don’t believe in God. I had sex without marriage. You know I was drunk when you… came to that bar.” She shrugged, meeting his eyes. “I’m attracted to women and men. I’m pro-choice. I could go on with all the things I’ve been told are sins.” She was a little afraid for a moment that she’d gone too far.

To her relief, he merely nodded. “They strain out the gnat while swallowing down the camel,” he said. “We love you and accept you as you are. Sins are those things that harm ourselves and others. That pollute the world with hate and pain. Lust seeks its own desire. Love is unselfish, kind, and giving. It isn’t the form of the one you love that matters. A child is a blessing,” she thought his voice caught briefly, but he continued too quickly for her to question it. “However, there are times when that blessing is… not to be. It is decisions and actions made through selfishness that are sins. Alcohol and drugs allow selfishness, and allow us to excuse our cruelty. They give distance from our souls and cloud reasoning.”

She had a forkful of cake to give herself a moment to think. “You seem to be saying it’s the intent that matters. But you can have good intentions and still create bad consequences.”

Joseph seemed pleased that she was engaging with him again. “Of course,” he said mildly. “None of us is perfect. None without sin. Please understand that I don’t put myself above any of my flock. God chose to direct me, but He did not make me without fault. I still struggle with sin, as much as any man.” For a moment, his gaze flickered over her. “I still feel the pull of temptation.”

The comment unsettled her and she looked away, taking a gulp of coffee. “Sure, I guess trying to be good counts for something even if you f--even if you mess up. But… what if you have selfish intentions and do the right thing because you’re looking for a reward?” She shrugged a bit. “That’s why I can’t really get on board with the idea of God and hell and all. If you’re just doing what you think God says is right because you’re afraid of hell, does it count? You could be an awful person and want to do horrible things and just not because you’re afraid of the consequences. That doesn’t sound very holy to me.”

“That is true,” he said. She was half surprised he agreed with her. “It pains me, but I fear there are those who avoid sin only out of concern for themselves. It is unfortunate, but humanity is far removed from God. Many are interested only in themselves.”

“Well, what then? If I said all the right things, and did all the right things, just because for argument’s sake I believed you and was afraid to go to hell, would that still make me saved?” Olivia was afraid she was treading a dangerous line, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. Joseph had an answer for everything; she either had to acquiesce or keep pushing. 

He regarded her a long moment, head tilted to one side, his expression unreadable. For a moment she was afraid he was going to grab her throat again, but instead he picked up his coffee, sipping thoughtfully. “You’ve thought a lot about this, haven’t you?” he said.

Olivia shrugged, looking down at her plate. “I suppose. The way I was raised… questions like that weren’t exactly encouraged. But I can’t help asking them.”

Joseph nodded a little. “It is not a frivolous question. And yes, I am aware there may be some among the flock who merely profess to believe. Who pretend to love. But God sees all. He sees right into the heart of us. And in the end, He’s the one to make that judgment. In the end, the world will burn and I intend to save as many as I can, worthy or not. I hope that once they see the truth, they’ll believe and be truly saved. It’s not for me to decide who lives. Only to do all I can to prepare.”

Olivia sighed softly. There seemed little use in continuing to argue. It was probably a mistake to even try debating a zealot cult leader about moral philosophy to begin with. He was completely assured of his stance after all, and for all his talk about sin he was almost more interested in simply preparing for the end of the world. She would almost admire that, had it not been for the kidnapping and murder.

“I see we’ve wandered from the topic of sin,” Joseph observed.

“It isn’t something I’ve thought about. Not in those sorts of terms,” Olivia said, hoping to mollify him. 

He nodded. “You ought to,” he said. “It will help make your confession and atonement go more smoothly.”

There was something in his voice that made her very nervous. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what not going smoothly would entail. Happily, he let the subject go after that, merely encouraging her to eat her cake as time and effort went into preparing it. She had little appetite but finished the slice anyway, unwilling to try his patience.

The rest of the evening was spent primarily in Joseph’s library as he tended to a stack of reports brought in by followers, and correspondence they carried away again. He allowed her to browse the shelves, full mostly of religious tomes, and someone brought them tea. For the most part he paid her no mind, focusing on his papers, and eventually a large bound book emblazoned with the cult’s symbol, a cross with something like petals or the arms of a starburst added. He turned to an empty page, writing in an unhurried, neat hand. He was so absorbed that for a time she wondered if he’d forgotten her. 

“I’ll be speaking at our church in the morning,” he said eventually. “You’ll accompany me.” His tone said it wasn’t a request.

“Oh,” she said. She wasn’t going to try to argue with him, but she wasn’t about to act as if it were her choice.

Joseph glanced up, putting down his pen and closing his book. She tensed as he stood and walked over to her, but he merely cupped her cheeks again, leaning down and pressing his forehead to hers. “I know you’re confused. I know you’re afraid. I know you’ve been beaten down and have lost your way. But God brought you to me. God wants you to be saved. You don’t believe it yet, Olivia, but I tell you that you are so very special, and so very loved.” He kissed her forehead, and she suppressed a shiver. She didn’t dare contradict him, particularly not with his handprint still bruised across her throat. 

She let him take her hands, let him pull her to her feet. Her stomach knotted in anxiety as he led her away from the library, and in the end they wound up at the door to the bedroom she’d woken in. Joseph pulled her to him, embracing her, pressing his hard body against hers and stroking her hair. She thought for a wild moment that he would come inside the room with her. Instead, he kissed her chastely on the cheek. 

“Rest well, my child. Tomorrow we have much to do, and I would like you with me for it. Don’t fret. You’re safe.” He smiled slightly as he let her go, turning without even a backwards glance. 

Olivia retreated into the bedroom, closing the door firmly, though not before she saw one of his men take up a position outside the room. For the time being she was going nowhere. 

In her absence someone had made the bed, and laid several sets of clothing out for her. Most of what she’d been provided were dresses, unsurprisingly, though there were a few more casual items, most of which were emblazoned with the cult’s symbol. There was also a soft robe, and a few nightgowns that looked to be right out of some Little House on the Prairie type show. Even so, the fabric was smooth and the cut was comfortable.

She washed her face and got into bed, wondering how she was going to get through the ordeal she was in. The longer things went on, she was certain, the less gentle Joseph was going to be. 

Unsurprisingly, she slept poorly that night and when morning came she would have liked to stay in bed. Instead there was a tap at the door, and a dark haired woman poked her head in to tell her to shower and get dressed to meet the Father for breakfast. Not wanting to test his patience, she dragged herself up.

She showered quickly, and figuring the casual clothes weren’t what he’d expect her to wear to church, she chose one of the dresses. It was sky blue, with a high neckline and long hem, but the cut was reasonably flattering. She supposed that and the slip-on shoes were appropriate enough. Unsurprisingly she hadn’t been given any makeup, hair products, or jewelry. All she had was the gold chain and her rings, which she pushed under the neckline.

She examined herself in the bathroom mirror. The mark of Joseph’s hand stood starkly on the pale skin of her neck, his fingertips red and purple splotches where he’d grabbed her. She wouldn’t be swearing in his presence again, that much was certain, but who knew what else might set him off? She dreaded joining him for breakfast, and even more for church, but she didn’t think there was an alternative. The best chance she had was to be cooperative, and ready to move when the opportunity presented itself. 

If nothing else, breakfast was good. She somehow doubted the rank and file got to eat as well as Father Joseph, but she kept the observation to herself as they shared eggs and bacon. Joseph was mostly quiet, preoccupied with the sermon he was composing, and she didn’t interrupt him. Beyond inquiring how she slept, and accepting her lie, he didn’t press her to talk. 

One of his men drove them to the church in one of the trucks emblazoned with the cult’s symbol, down roads she didn’t recognize. It was unlikely, even if she got away, that she would make it to anything approaching safety if she struck out in a random direction, and the thought proved entirely futile when they arrived and she saw the armed guards. 

She chanced a glance up at Joseph. “There are a lot of guards,” she observed. 

He’d been looking down at the thick book in his lap, and blinked as though he wasn’t certain where he was for a moment. “Yes,” he agreed. “For our protection. Bad news is never popular. There are always those who would kill the messenger.”

When they parked, he offered his hand to help her out of the vehicle, solicitous and gentle, as though his handprint wasn’t still on her neck. If he noticed the bruises, he said nothing about them. 

His people flocked around him as he approached, greeting him, thanking him, giving him news. He greeted them patiently, each by name, embracing them, grasping hands, kissing foreheads. Many of them looked at her curiously, and some with what she thought might be jealousy. After all, she’d arrived with the Father himself. She tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible. 

Her attention was quickly drawn away from the crowd and to a young woman with long golden-brown hair, wearing a white dress embroidered with flowers. She skipped more than walked, bounding up to Joseph with a bright smile. She had a flower tucked behind her ear; one of the sort that Joseph had pushed into Olivia’s face that first night. 

The woman peered into Olivia’s face with bluegreen eyes. “Oh, you brought her!” she chirped. 

Joseph smiled, laying a hand on the woman’s arm, and pulling Olivia closer with his free hand. “Olivia. I would like you to meet my sister, Faith. Faith, this is Olivia, you remember her from the other night?”

Faith gave a little, girlish giggle, putting a hand to Olivia’s cheek. “Of course! You look nicer today. Are you feeling better?” she asked sweetly. Olivia could swear she was sincere. 

“Y-yes, I’m ok,” she replied softly. 

“Faith,” Joseph said. His voice was calm and conversational, but Olivia didn’t miss how very quickly Faith focused on him, or how still she became. “John and Jacob are otherwise occupied this morning. Would you be so kind as to be Olivia’s companion this morning while I’m on the pulpit?”

The young woman nodded, smiling brightly. “Of course!” Quickly she shifted to Olivia’s side, linking arms with her as though they were the best of friends. “We’ll go get settled,” she told him and smiled sweetly at Olivia. “We’re family so we sit up front,” she told her. 

Before Olivia could reply, Faith was pulling her along, skipping up the stairs and through the double doors into Eden’s Gate’s church. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching a lot of The Good Place lately, and reading philosophy so this chapter grew a bit out of that. I'm pretty sure I could guess Father Joseph's answers to the Trolley Problem and its variations....


	6. Take Me To Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia joins the congregation for a memorable, and terrifying sermon, and Joseph baptizes her.

Faith practically danced down the center aisle of the church, pulling Olivia along, greeting parishioners and smiling at everyone. She stopped briefly near the front to greet a man that she observed was ‘new’ before pulling Olivia to the front pew. She didn’t give any alternative but for them to sit together, arms still linked as Faith swung her legs and turned to her with a smile. 

“It’s so special, having the Father himself guide you,” she said. Her eyes flicked down to Olivia’s throat. She’d made no effort to hide the bruises. Faith frowned ever so slightly. “He may seem strict, but it’s only because he loves you.”

Olivia suppressed a bitter laugh. He only hurt her because he loved her. Where had she heard that one before?

Faith went on. “We’ve grown so much it’s hard for him to get time with everyone anymore. You’re the first one he’s taken under his wing in a long time. He must see something really special in you.” 

Olivia noticed that one of the armed guards sat in the pew right behind them. She very much doubted it was a coincidence. She put on a small smile. “Oh?” was all she could think to say. 

Faith nodded. “This close to the Collapse, he wouldn’t give so much time to just anyone. He has to be Father to the whole of Eden’s Gate. And he’s been busy with his own preparations for the Collapse. We all are, but he’s the Father, so of course he has to make sure everything is okay.”

“Of course,” Olivia murmured. 

Faith smiled as she held Olivia’s eyes for an uncomfortably long time. “It’s hard for you, isn’t it? It was for me too. I was just lost before the Father found me. And it was still hard to let go of my old life. Even with everything he did to help.” She gave Olivia’s arm a squeeze. “But don’t forget you have family to help you, if you’ll let us.”

She mustered up a wan smile. If nothing else, Faith seemed sincere. Sincerely devoted to a cult, but she did seem like she truly wanted to help as well. “Thanks,” Olivia said. 

Faith squeezed her arm again and paused as Joseph walked in, his followers flocking behind him like baby ducks. “Give me just a second. I’m going to tell Joseph about our new person,” she said. She patted Olivia’s knee and darted over to Joseph, cupping a hand next to his ear. He leaned toward her briefly and nodded. He didn’t glance in the new man’s direction, but continued to the front, pausing to speak to his guards as Faith returned to the pew, linking arms with Olivia once more. 

Olivia focused on Joseph’s sermon once it began, trying to appear sincerely interested and eventually not having to fake it. As she’d already observed, he had charisma. As he spoke, she could feel herself being drawn in, his words pulling at the crowd. So much of it did make sense. He spoke of consumerism, war, hunger, hate. The selfishness of world leaders and government. She heard many people responding, murmurs of agreement, sighs, groans. It was easy to get swept up in the atmosphere. He began quietly, the cadence of his voice building in rhythm and volume. His voice swelled with emotion as he implored his followers to love one another, telling them that they were all wonderful and special and precious. And that they had to act, because the world was at a tipping point. That something was coming. One only had to look at the world to see it was filled with souls in pain.

It was all things that she’d heard before, from other prophets of doom or preachers on TV. Everything was a herald of Armageddon and anything could be manipulated into a sign of the end times. 

At the same time, he was more persuasive than most. He never spoke a word about money, either. Everything he said was focused on being a family, supporting each other, making certain their brothers and sisters were clothed and fed. And of course saving people from the end. 

“God demands we save those lost souls whether they want to be saved or not,” Joseph stepped forward, his eyes settling on Olivia briefly. “Many of them will not want to hear this, my children. Some will wish to harm us. Some will wish to destroy all that we have built here together.” His voice echoed through the room as he swept an arm, encompassing the congregation.

His voice changed then to something quieter and chillingly calm. “And some will betray us,” he said. He turned his cold blue gaze to focus on the newcomer.

As if waiting for a cue, the guards were on the dark-haired man immediately, dragging him to the front and forcing him to his knees in front of Joseph. While there were gasps and murmurs among the crowd, no one spoke a word in protest. As the gunmen bound the newcomer’s hands behind him, Olivia realized that something terrible was about to happen. 

Faith apparently felt her tense. “Shhh,” she soothed. She seemed unsurprised and undisturbed by the occurrence. She stroked Olivia’s arm as though she were comforting a child frightened by a movie scene. 

Joseph watched the man impassively as his guards stepped back, leaving him kneeling at the front of the congregation.

“You see, my children?” he said. “Do you see?”

A murmur rumbled through the crowd, dozens of voices answering in the affirmative. 

Joseph nodded. “Your eyes have been opened. You see the world, you see all of it for what it is.” He stepped forward, toward the bound man, slowly, deliberately. “And those in the outside world are blind. They do not believe. They have no faith.”

The man on the floor struggled against the ropes holding him. Olivia’s mouth was dry, her heart hammering. She glanced at Faith, only receiving a little pat from the smiling woman. It was not reassuring.

Joseph stood over the man now, shushing him. His voice was gentle, which somehow made everything worse. “But I will make them see,” he said, taking the man’s face in his hands and pressing his thumbs hard against his eyes. 

It was hard to know what was worse. The screaming or the thick wet sounds as the Father plunged his thumbs through the man’s eye sockets. Olivia felt a shriek bubbling up from her chest, but before it could escape Faith had a flower pressed against her face. 

“It’s all right. It’ll be over soon,” she whispered.

The scream died in Olivia’s throat as the scent of the flower flooded her, making her feel like she was falling slowly down a deep hole. Sparkles formed at the edges of her vision, and she slumped a little, leaning on Faith for support. She watched in distant horror as the screaming and thrashing stopped, and Joseph pushed the man’s lifeless body away like so much garbage. He spread his arms wide, holding up his blood-slick hands in supplication as he raised his eyes heavenward. “We will make them see,” he repeated, his voice echoing across the vaulted ceiling. 

She wanted to run screaming, but whatever the flower was, it stole her strength and will. She could only watch, her eyes swimming in and out of focus, as he gazed over the assembled crowd and focused on her. The drug toyed with her perception, making Joseph seem closer, his blue eyes glowing behind his yellow glasses. Her mouth was dry, and her body felt like it wanted to be trembling but couldn’t remember how. 

“And now, my children, to more pleasant subjects,” he said, his voice once again smooth and gentle and even kind, as though he didn’t have a body growing cold at his feet. “Today we welcome new brothers and sisters to our flock. Join together to witness the baptism.”

Olivia didn’t quite understand what was happening at first, her thoughts coming slowly and with great effort. She found she could move when propelled, her body’s muscle memory getting her up and walking as Faith pulled her along, their arms linked again. 

The sun was dazzling as they walked outside, the trees and grass and river a riot of color and shine. Everything seemed more intense and alive, butterflies flitting over flowers, fish flashing silver in the river. She paused to stare at a rabbit that had sprouted antlers, but Faith’s hand at the small of her back hurried her along. 

Everyone was singing as they walked to the river, but she knew none of the words, instead humming a little here and there as she could catch the tune. As they walked the effects of the flower faded little by little, the gears of her mind grinding slowly back up to speed.

Joseph waded nearly waist-deep into the river as Faith pulled her to the edge of the water. The crowd hushed as he turned back to them, and his eyes found her. He smiled, warmly. “Olivia,” he called, holding out his hands to her. The cuffs of his white shirt were stained red. 

Fear lanced through her, driving away the last remnants of the flower-drug, and she hesitated. She’d known that the cult killed people. She knew there had been at least a casualty or two at the bar where Joseph found her. That could be put down to the firefight. Both sides were shooting, and some cultists fell as well. 

She had not been prepared to watch him murder so coldly and deliberately and gruesomely in front of her. As he stood there, beckoning her with blood-stained hands, she knew the last place on earth she wanted to be was in the grip of Joseph Seed. 

Faith nudged her gently forward. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Go on.”

She was surrounded by the entire congregation. People that watched their leader kill someone with his bare hands in their church. If she tried to run, she wouldn’t make it two steps.

Slowly, Olivia waded into the water, shivering as the chill washed over her legs and up to her waist as she came to him. He smiled warmly, a hand circling the back of her neck, the other pressing against her breastbone. “My precious child,” he said, so softly she wasn’t sure he meant her to hear. Then, he plunged her under the chill water. 

The river’s current, though gentle, tugged at the skirt of her dress, and swept her hair across her face. She opened her eyes as he held her, looking up at him through swirling water and red strands of her hair like seaweed. Sunlight sparkled through the treetops around them and for a moment she almost hoped he would hold her there until it was all over. For final sights, one could do worse. And she wouldn’t have to find out what else Joseph had in mind for her. 

He brought her up suddenly, gasping for breath, her hair plastered wetly over her eyes. The assembled congregation clapped on shore as he pushed her hair back and cradled her face in both hands. “Welcome, my daughter,” he said. He pressed his forehead to hers, holding her there for a long moment before laying a gentle kiss on her forehead. He lingered there, their bodies close, his hands holding her as though he didn’t want to let go. Finally, he released her to slosh back up the riverbank into Faith’s waiting arms. 

She stood there, shivering through the rest of the baptisms, with the absolute knowledge of one thing. 

She had to get away from Eden’s Gate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty inspired on this story lately, so updates are coming fast. I'm pretty certain I won't keep up this pace for much longer as I start Grad School in 5 days, but I'll do my best to update when I can!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	7. What Would Happen If We Kissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the incident at the Church, and of Olivia's baptism, Joseph decides that they need to talk. 
> 
> He shows an uncanny insight into her that affects her deeply.

Olivia didn’t argue when Joseph took her back to the truck to go back to his home. She climbed in, still damp, and pressed herself against the side door, staring out the window and hugging herself as they drove. Long minutes passed in silence before Joseph looked over at her, as though just remembering she was there. 

“Olivia, are you--” he paused, and smiled a bit. “You’re cold. I apologize. I’m used to the river nowadays.” He leaned forward, asking the driver to turn up the heat. “When we get home you can change into something dry, and we’ll get you some hot tea.”

She glanced over at him, trying not to stare at his shirt cuffs, still stained red in spite of the river, peeking from under his black jacket. “Y-yeah,” she said softly, and went back to staring out the window. She couldn’t suppress a flinch when he reached over and pushed her hair back. 

He said nothing, though she could feel his gaze heavy on her. Eventually he opened his book again, reading from it while he hummed softly.  _ Amazing Grace _ . It was a song she’d only ever heard at funerals, which didn't improve the atmosphere.

She had to keep herself from sprinting to her room when they arrived at Joseph’s home, making herself take his offered hand to get out of the truck, and keeping pace with him as they walked in. He turned, looking down at her, and tipped her face up with one hand. 

“Why don’t you go dry off. I need to as well. After that, come downstairs to my study. I sense we need to talk.”

She dreaded the conversation that was likely to follow, but nodded anyhow. She could fight him, she supposed. Try to barricade herself in the room, refuse to come out. Break the mirror and make a shard of glass into an improvised knife, perhaps. There were several things she could conceivably do, but none of them were likely to end well for her. Eventually his men would break in and drag her out, or she would find herself bringing a glass shard to a gunfight. Or if she managed to take a hostage she could imagine Joseph looking in her eyes and knowing she didn’t have it in her to kill them. 

Fighting him there and then, no matter how she did it, only led to one outcome. She would lose, and she would be at his debatable mercy. 

So she went to her room, toweled off, put on dry clothes, and went downstairs to Joseph’s study. 

He was at his desk already when she arrived, in a fresh shirt but no jacket or vest. It was the first time she’d seen his hair loose, and it softened him a little. He was writing in his book again, and a steaming mug and a soft chair waited for her across from him. 

He looked up as she came in and smiled gently, gesturing to the chair. “Olivia. Please join me.”

He didn’t seem angry about her nervousness toward him, but then, he hadn’t seemed angry when he strangled her. Or when he killed that man, for that matter. She took a breath and slid into the seat, wrapping her hands around the mug. 

“Chamomile,” he said. “I thought you might need something to help you relax.”

She nodded, looking down into the cup so that she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. 

He closed the book, laying aside the pen, and folded his hands on top of it. “Ask,” he said, as if for all the world he knew what she was going to say. 

Olivia swallowed. “Why did you kill him?” 

“To protect us,” he said.

“From what?” she demanded. “You--Faith said he was new, that doesn’t mean--”

He held up a hand as if to soothe her. “He was an enemy. One who had plans to harm us.” He opened a drawer and brought out a small spy camera, laying it on the desk between them. “He was not there out of interest, or even curiosity. That would be welcome. I want everyone to hear our message, I want everyone we can reach to be saved.”

She looked down at the camera. “He was filming? But--that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, is it?”

“Why do so secretly?” He leaned forward a bit, his eyes holding hers. “Only those with something to hide  _ have _ to hide. There are people who don’t believe the Collapse is coming. And some of them want to destroy us. To tear apart our family and the community we’ve built. If he had asked to film, I might have allowed it. If he’d come to me, I would have answered his questions. Instead, he came into our church like a viper, to twist our beliefs and take our family.”

His gaze was intense, unblinking, there was a fever behind those eyes. He believed every word of what he said. “You didn’t have to kill him,” she said softly. 

“Yes, lamb. I did,” he replied. “I do regret you had to see that. I didn’t want to frighten you.”

“You didn’t--I wasn’t frightened,” she lied quickly.

He reached across the desk, catching her hand in his. His thumb rubbed soft circles against her knuckles. “You try so hard to be strong. You had to be, didn’t you?”

The question caught her off-guard. She was already unbalanced by the day’s events, and didn’t expect something so direct and observant. She wanted to pull her hand back, but at the same time the contact was comforting. How long had it been before Joseph cupped her face in that bar that anyone had touched her? That anyone seemed to  _ see _ her? “I am strong,” she said softly. 

“Yes,” he agreed. “You’ve been through so much. You’ve come out of the other side, and that’s admirable. I can see it in you. You had to fight to survive, and you won. That’s no small matter. But you also built a shell around yourself, didn’t you? Not letting anyone see beyond the armor you showed them. You had to do it just to get through the day. You had to hide any sign of weakness. Anything that could be pounced on.”

Her breath caught. If she hadn’t been so shaken already she would have rejected his words, argued, shouted at him. It cut her to the heart because he was  _ right _ , and she didn’t know how he could know. He hadn’t seen the scars, she hadn’t told him or anyone else in Hope County about her past. It was as though he had looked into her eyes and just read what was written in her mind. The thought came unbidden: _ maybe God told him _ . 

She wanted to deny everything. Instead she felt prickles of moisture threatening to well up in her eyes. “Any flaws,” she said softly. 

He nodded. “You’ve worked so hard to build up your walls and hide it, but you have a gentle and kind heart. And that is nothing to be ashamed of. You had to build up that armor and that mask to protect it. Like the precious thing it is.” He squeezed her hand gently. “You wore your mask, and your armor for so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be without them. You’ve played your part on stage so long you can’t remember what you are inside.”

Olivia fought against the emotion welling up in her. She’d fallen back into old habits since she lost John--her John. Trying to put a wall between anything and anyone that might see the truth of her. That Joseph might was at once terrifying and hopeful. “I’m… I’m nothing,” she said softly, hating herself for admitting the thought, especially to him. He was dangerous, he was brutal, and he was clearly mad. But he was there, and he saw her.

Joseph shook his head. “You are wonderful, you are special, and you don’t need those walls anymore, Olivia,” he said firmly. “You don’t have to hide anymore. You don’t have to try to be perfect. None of us are, child. None of us. You don’t have to protect your heart anymore. Because I will. And you don’t have to be hard, because I will do those hard things instead. That’s what a father does. He does those hard, even cruel things that must be done sometimes to protect his children.”

She winced at that, looking away.

“I understand,” he said, as though he knew what she was thinking. “My own father was… not the most sterling example of what a father ought to be. He spent our money on drink. He was cruel for the sake of cruelty, or to vent frustrations, or any of a thousand excuses. Always someone else’s fault of course.”

Her hands were trembling. She wasn’t sure when she’d gripped his hand in both of hers, but she held on tightly and nodded, afraid to speak, knowing her voice would break. 

Joseph sighed, a world of weariness and sadness in his voice. “I am not a perfect man, or a perfect father. I wish that I could be, but all of us are burdened with sin. But please believe that what I do, I do out of love for my family, my children. If I must I will fight armies, I would kill for my family. If it comes to it, I will give my life for my family. And that includes you, my beautiful, precious, gentle Olivia. Even if you can’t believe that yet.”

She felt the tears spill over her cheeks. She was frightened of him. She had seen him kill with barely a thought. The bruises from his hand still ached at her throat. But he saw through her masks. He  _ knew _ somehow. He knew her, he saw her, and heaven help her, she believed what he said. Wouldn’t she kill for someone she loved? And if she believed as truly as he did that God told her the world was going to end, wouldn’t she do everything she could to save people? How could he know so much with her telling him so little? 

What if he was right? What if God really did speak to him, and it was everyone else who was wrong?

It was confusing, so hard to reject, so hard to accept. She didn’t want to believe him, but his words made sense, and he saw things in her she wanted to keep secret. It was too much, making her doubt her own mind, making her feel like she was going crazy.

Joseph stood, coming around the desk and pulling her gently to her feet. He embraced her, and this time she went to him willingly, desperate for comfort. That he was the cause of a fair portion of her distress seemed immaterial for the moment. 

He held her to him, stroking her hair, and she clung to him like a child, burying her face in his shoulder. “I know,” he said softly. “I would shield you from all of this if I could. Gentle hearts are always the most hurt when difficult things must be done. But God has sent you to remind us there is still a place for softness. Even if it’s only after the Collapse that we can be soft again.”

Pressed against him she felt warm and strangely comforted. Hands that had killed someone in front of her tenderly combed through her hair, rubbed her back. He could hurt her. He  _ had _ hurt her. But he also understood her. He saw past the barriers, past her mask, and still held her tightly and told her she was good. 

He kissed her hair, looking down at her, and she looked up at him. 

They were very close. Arms wrapped around one another, his face inches from hers. He let out a slow breath, staring down at her face. He stroked his knuckles along her jaw gently for a moment, his fingers finding her cheek. His thumb traced her lips.

His eyes were very blue up close. The intensity his gaze generally held was a little softer. With his hair loose, his yellow glasses set aside, his clothing less crisp and fastidious, he was a handsome man. He was handsome in either case, but he seemed a bit more human, a bit more approachable. 

He leaned down, and she closed the distance between them.

The kiss was gentle. His lips pressed hers with a tenderness she hadn’t expected, and she returned it in kind. It was warm and almost chaste, with only a hint of something deeper. He pulled back first with a little intake of breath, and remained looking down at her, his hand on her cheek. 

He gave a soft little smile. “Oh, my child. You do tempt me,” he said. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” she asked. Her head was swimming in the wake of the kiss. Part of her was screaming to run, to get away from him. But in that moment all she wanted was more. 

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the study door. Joseph released her, stepping back, becoming the Father once more. 

“Yes?” he called, all calm and assurance again. 

It was fascinating to watch the change. Or it would have been, had it not hurt so much. His posture tightened, his features schooled to distant calm, his eyes hardening. In a moment, it felt like she didn’t matter at all, that she was just some parishioner there for council. 

One of his Chosen entered. It was hard to tell them apart, really. All of them had on similar clothes, emblazoned with the flower cross, their hair ragged, their beards unkempt. 

The man glanced at her briefly, before focusing on Joseph. “Sir, the Chosen who were dispatched to the lumber mill are back. There’s been some developments.” He didn’t look at her again, but she had the feeling he was avoiding saying what those developments were because of her presence. 

Joseph nodded. “I’ll meet with them,” he said, and turned to her. “Olivia, I’ll be indisposed perhaps until tonight. Feel free to make use of the kitchen. Ask your brothers and sisters if you need anything.”

Just like that he’d become distant again. As though the kiss had never happened. She didn’t dare say a word about it, and only nodded as he turned away, tying his hair back severely again. 

Once he was gone she went to the kitchen but found she didn’t have much of an appetite. His people, her ‘brothers and sisters’ she supposed, greeted her pleasantly enough, but watched her with care. The moment she drifted too near an outside door someone would be at her elbow, asking politely if she needed something. Apparently her baptism hadn’t given her leaving the house privileges. Even so, she explored upstairs and down in the guise of finding out where everything was so that she could be helpful. The basement door was locked, as was Joseph’s room, but for the most part she had free run, so long as she didn’t step outside. 

She helped in the kitchen for a time as well, filing away the locations of knives and other items that might be useful. And she paid attention to the comings and goings of Joseph’s guards, the “Chosen” she supposed they were called. She got the impression it was a high honor to be stationed at Joseph’s home, and those who were tended to be alert and careful. It would make it difficult to slip away, that much was certain. But perhaps if she was careful and behaved, there would be an opportunity.

It was dangerous to stay there, that much she was convinced of. The kiss with Joseph had been a mistake, she was sure of it. It had left her confused, and shown him a great deal of vulnerability. More than that, though, she was afraid that after time to think on it, Joseph might decide that the temptation she presented him with was dangerous. And she had already seen what he did with what he deemed a threat. 

She sequestered herself in her room early, turning out the lights when she heard trucks approaching and saw Joseph through her window, headed back inside. She kept quiet as she could manage as footsteps sounded in the hallway outside her room, pausing for long moments before moving on. He didn’t knock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still writing furiously, still sure I won't keep up this pace after this week, but I'm going to try!


	8. When The Cockleshell Shatters And The Hammers Batter Down The Door.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Joseph acting like nothing happened, Olivia tries to understand him a bit better.
> 
> She realizes her situation is untenable and decides to do something about it.

The next day it was very much like nothing had happened. She was awakened for breakfast and joined Joseph for cornmeal pancakes that were delicious despite her nervousness. He was polite and pleasant, asking how she slept and accepting her first lie of the day. It was gray outside, stormclouds rolling in threateningly. 

“I have to leave today to visit Jacob’s outpost,” he said finally, wiping his mouth and leaving his napkin on the table. “It’s very likely I’ll be there much of the day, there’s quite a bit to see to.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Olivia asked. She tried not to sound too eager. Getting away from the house where she was watched so closely might make it easier to run. 

Joseph regarded her thoughtfully a moment. “No, not today,” he said. “I think that considering your baptism was yesterday it would behoove you to spend some time in study and contemplation. You should be learning our teachings, of course. And you should take some time to consider your confession and atonement. Those ought to follow soon.”

There was a hint of reproof in his voice. She refrained from reminding him that he’d kissed her back. “Yes, Father,” she said contritely. If he wasn’t going to let her go with him, she needed to build his trust up enough to get some of her restrictions relaxed. Or at least appear to be docile enough to find an opportunity while he was gone.

Joseph seemed pleased at her use of his title. He nodded, putting his hand over hers. “I’m glad that you’re taking this so seriously,” he said. “I’ll give you some of my sermons to read. Tomorrow perhaps we can discuss them.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’d like that.” Anything that made him feel she was falling in line.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll look forward to speaking with you later tonight, then.”

He left her with a stack of papers, all written in his neat, cramped hand, and a brief, fatherly kiss on the forehead. She saw him off from the porch as it was the first time she’d been allowed out of the house since she arrived. As she’d expected, the rain began not long after he left.

With his people still there watching her behavior, she knew she had little chance to slip away, so she figured she may as well do what she’d promised. She settled on the living room couch with his writings and a cup of tea.

Much of it was as she’d expected from his previous sermon and their discussions, but as she read she began to notice a surprising lack of eternal concerns. He condemned the state of the world, urged his followers to prepare for the ‘collapse’, and wrote about survival afterward, but none of his writings seemed to mention heaven or hell. Mostly they were concerned with keeping the members of Eden’s Gate alive through some ill-defined catastrophe and period of hardship they planned to ride out in bunkers before emerging to a promised new dawn. 

All of it was very religious in flavor, and he mentioned the Voice of God and being directed by God, but other than that his concerns were very earthly indeed. In fact, as she read on, one of his sermons even stated as much. He was not chosen, he claimed, to save their eternal souls, but to save their lives. She supposed that after that it was up to the Lord.

It made the whole thing even more confusing, honestly. Part of her had been concerned that Joseph would eventually lead his followers into drinking the kool-aid so they could go be with Jesus, but it seemed he had nearly entirely opposite intentions. They planned to live through the apocalypse and emerge afterward to what, repopulate the Earth? That made Joseph’s interest in her slightly more worrisome. Of course, she  _ had _ kissed him first. 

She left off her reading at lunchtime, taking another walk around the house after she’d been fed by her keepers. All the same doors were locked, and getting near the exits still caused helpful questions about her needs. 

As there seemed nothing else to do, she returned to reading.

It was more difficult to concentrate. With a belly full of soup and the rain pattering against the windows, and thunder rumbling in the distance, she was quickly lulled. She found herself reading the same sentence over and over, unable to grasp its meaning. Deciding to rest her eyes, she placed the stack of papers carefully on the coffee table, and stretched out on the couch. She hadn’t been sleeping well, even before the… incident at the church. A little catnap would do her good. 

When she opened her eyes again there was a blanket over her, and she felt the slight stiffness in her limbs that came of lying in one position for a long time. She blinked away her grogginess, sitting up slowly. 

Joseph was sitting in one of the armchairs, writing in his book again. He looked up at her. 

“I suppose my sermons are a bit more interesting delivered rather than read,” he said wryly. 

Olivia shook her head, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. “I… no, I mean, they were interesting, just--” she began.

Joseph chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s fine. You haven’t been resting well. Yes, you tell me you sleep fine, but your eyes have been bloodshot the past two mornings.” He closed his book, putting it aside and giving her his full attention. “You don’t need to lie. It’s been difficult for you. There’s no shame in that.”

She frowned slightly and nodded. Difficult was certainly one way to put it. Confusing and terrifying were the more accurate terms, but she didn’t correct him. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I had them hold dinner for a bit. You seemed to need rest.”

She  _ was _ a bit hungry. She glanced out the window, but it was hard to tell the time. It had been dark much of the day. “Y-yeah. How long was I out?”

Joseph stood, holding his hands out to help her up. She didn’t need help but took them anyway. “It’s almost six-thirty,” he told her. “I’ve been back perhaps an hour. Apparently you fell asleep at some point after lunch.” His hands lingered on hers for a moment after she stood, but then he released her, stepping back. “Come, we can discuss a little of what you read, if you like.”

They sat down to bowls of thick and meaty stew that would have gone wonderfully with a cold beer, but she knew better than to even joke about getting one. She might have argued that even Jesus drank wine, but after reading Joseph’s sermons she was pretty sure that was immaterial. She sipped sweetened iced tea and considered what she could say to him. “I did read most of what you left me,” she said. 

Joseph nodded. “Excellent. I’m going to assume you have questions and comments,” he smiled slightly. 

“Is that allowed?” she asked. Their more academic discussion was one thing, but it was a different sort of thing to critique someone’s writing. Particularly a zealot’s. 

“Of course,” he said mildly. “Some require more convincing than others, and you’ve already told me you’re a skeptic. Truth shouldn’t fear questions, though I would ask that you are respectful.”

His voice was calm as always, but she knew a warning when she heard one, so she nodded. “Of course,” she murmured. The easiest thing, she supposed, was to ask about the most obvious oddity. “I didn’t finish reading them all but… in the ones I did, I couldn’t help but notice it’s mostly about the Collapse and afterward. I guess what I’d have thought of as Earthly matters, not spiritual ones.”

“You expected something more focused on saving you in death rather than in life,” he said. 

Olivia nodded. “Well, most of the time that’s what I hear. Things about heaven and hell. Material concerns aren’t generally a focus of most churches.”

“Eden’s Gate is not most churches,” he said. She bit her tongue so that she didn’t respond with sarcasm. He continued. “God did not task me to save people from hell or to send them to heaven. That I leave in the hands of God. My work here is to save as many lives as I can. To preserve God’s chosen people through the Collapse so that we may enter the new world. It was the work given to me, and it is what I will do.”

“Do you know how it’s going to happen? Or when?” she ventured. A set date would be dangerous. More than the situation already was. Because if the day came and went and nothing happened, she could only imagine what he and his people might do. 

Joseph shook his head. “No. Humanity is quite imaginative though. Particularly when it comes to destroying ourselves. I have little doubt humanity will be the instrument of its own destruction. I do not know how, or when. Only that it is coming, and that billions will die. The few thousand who will live are the ones I must preserve.”

She frowned, looking away from his intent blue eyes. “It seems cruel,” she said softly.

“I would say it is deserved,” he replied. “After all, are any of our methods of self-destruction kind?”

She didn’t have a good answer to that. Not one she liked, at any rate. After all, how often had she watched the news and wondered if they were all about to be blown to kingdom come? At least Joseph had a plan.

He didn’t escort her to her room that night, saying he had some work to finish. She believed him. The more she was around Joseph the more she was convinced that he believed every word he said. It made him even more dangerous, of course. A man looking for money or power or sex could be tempted, manipulated. A true believer, on the other hand, might view a distraction as something he needed to get rid of.

Well, before that happened, she needed to be gone.

Olivia dressed in the cult sweatshirt and loose pants she’d received, and braided her hair back while she waited for the house to go still and quiet. There was nothing in the room she could use; all the drawers were empty. It was very dark outside and it made her nervous. She had no idea where she was, or what animals might be lurking out there. Even so, she was pretty sure she’d rather deal with a cougar than Joseph. At least the cougar was predictable. 

Without a watch she had no idea how late it was, but she waited until the house was silent, and then she waited longer, watching the moon progress in the sky. Once she was reasonably certain everyone who was going to be asleep was asleep, she got a pillow from the bed. 

The bedroom was on the second floor, but overlooked the edge of the front porch. If she were careful, and a bit lucky, she thought she might be able to climb down without breaking her leg.

The first obstacle was the window itself. She held her breath, pushing the pillow up to the glass to muffle the sound, and shoving. It was louder than she anticipated, though it may have just been her nerves; no one came to investigate as she sat holding her breath, certain someone must have been alerted. 

Carefully, she picked the shards of glass out of the frame as best she could, and used the pillow to protect her skin as she climbed out. From her perch on the sill, the ground looked very far away indeed, but there was no turning back. Carefully, she stepped onto the edge of the porch covering, trying to climb down one of the slim wooden columns.

Fortunately, when she slipped, she’d almost made it. The fall wasn’t as bad as it could have been, a shrub breaking the worst of it, though she knew she was bruised. It was too dark to tell if she was bleeding, but her hand stung where branches had caught it. 

She knew there had to be a patrol, or some form of guards on duty at Joseph’s home, so she didn’t dare wait. Limping a bit, she climbed out of the shrubs and darted toward the treeline. It was hard to see, but the moon was full and she’d been sitting in a darkened room, so she could make out shapes. She abandoned the idea of taking one of the trucks; they were too near the house and someone would hear them starting. The ATVs, on the other hand, she could probably push out of earshot. 

She was delighted to discover that the keys had been left with the vehicles. She’d wondered as much, observing various people coming and going with the trucks and four-wheelers. They treated the vehicles like community property. Besides, who would be fool enough to steal from Eden’s Gate?

Obviously the main road would get her caught immediately, so she pushed the ATV slowly toward a dirt path near the back of the house. Perhaps if she were very, very lucky, she would be somewhere safe by the time her absence was noticed. 

Taking a last glance back at the house, she hesitated. 

Joseph was clearly a madman. He’d killed someone in front of her. He’d nearly choked the life out of her. He’d kidnapped her at gunpoint. She had every reason to run, and none to stay. And yet, she couldn’t help feeling like she was doing something wrong. 

Steeling herself, she turned the key in the ignition, and drove into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this is taking so long to get written. I've started back to classes and they're taking up a ton of time. :(


	9. I'll Tell You My Sins And You Can Sharpen Your Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia didn't have much of a plan, and it shows. She succeeds in escaping Joseph, but then...
> 
> What's that old saying? Out of the frying pan...

She hadn’t been a fugitive for long, but she was already certain she was lost. 

The trail was easy to lose in the darkness, and she wasn’t sure the trail she eventually found was the same one. She knew she was heading in the general direction of ‘away’ judging by the moon, but she also had no idea what she was headed toward. Hopefully she’d find something she recognized, or signs of habitation. She’d driven across a small bridge over a river, and found a paved road and seemed to be making good time going, well, somewhere, when the radio crackled to life. 

“Attention! All patrols! Be on the alert for a stolen ATV. The rider is a woman, red hair. She is to be brought in alive and as unharmed as possible. The Father commands it. Repeat--all patrols, be on the alert…”

Olivia swore. She calculated she’d been gone a little over an hour at most, and riding fairly slowly on average. Trying to keep to paths and clearings in the woods instead of the roads had made progress slow. Naturally the moment she was on a street and getting somewhere, they found out she was gone. 

She’d seen the number of people at the church, and the cars, trucks, and ATVs coming and going. Soon the roads would be full of cultists, all looking for her.

“Olivia.” The voice from the radio almost made her drive into a ditch. Joseph.

“Olivia, I know you’re frightened,” he said. Those familiar, calm tones. “I understand that you thought you needed to run. And I know now you’re afraid I’ll be angry.”

She swallowed. She needed to get rid of the ATV and find somewhere to hide.

“I’m not angry, my child. I’m only concerned. You don’t know this area, and there are dangers. I don’t want you to be hurt. The night is full of wild animals. And there are sinners who make a sport of shooting at our people.”

That gave her pause. Animals she knew about, the rest she didn’t. In the dark, wearing one of their crosses emblazoned on her chest, riding one of their vehicles, well. She would certainly look like a cultist. Someone might well shoot first and ask questions later.

“Please, my lamb. Stop running. Let your brothers and sisters help you. They will find you. Come home. I forgive you.” 

She shivered.  _ Home _ ? No, she had no intention of going back to Joseph’s house. And she wasn’t at all certain she trusted his forgiveness. 

Unfortunately, she had no idea what to do. It was dark, she was lost, and she had nothing but whatever was in the saddlebag as far as supplies. She didn’t even know for sure what was in there. It hadn’t been the best of escape plans, she reflected. She just hoped it didn’t get her killed. 

Knowing she was going to be easily seen on the road, she guided the ATV off the pavement, heading through what looked like a pasture. A tall silo loomed high to one side, and further on, nestled between some trees, she made out a small house. Its windows were dark and she wondered if it was empty, or if the occupants were just asleep. She pulled to a stop at what she hoped was enough distance that anyone inside wouldn’t hear the motor, and considered her options. 

There weren’t many, once she thought about it. If she abandoned the ATV in sight of the road, the farmhouse was the first place they’d look. So she had to determine if this were somewhere she could hide it, not to mention herself. 

Praying she didn’t get shot for lurking around in the dark outside someone’s house, she left the vehicle and crept toward the building.

The house was a simple, one-story type, painted white. As she got closer she made out a large shed as well, the doors hanging open. The place had an air of disuse and abandonment. A couple windows had only shards of glass in them, and the screen door clung by a single hinge. Across the white siding on the front, someone had painted a single word:  _ SINNER _ .

Olivia very much doubted the house was occupied anymore, but she needed to make certain.

Quietly as she could, she pushed the ATV through the yard and into the shed. Digging through the saddlebags attached to it, she was happy to find a small crank-powered flashlight. 

She was taking her life into her hands, she knew. If someone were inside, homeowner, squatter, or cultist, she could find herself in trouble. Then again, she was in trouble in any event. 

She went to the back door first, and found it unlocked. 

The kitchen was dusty, dirty dishes with unidentifiable substances dried on them piled in the sink. She saw evidence of small animals here and there, droppings and chewed remnants of boxes. In the living room the television had been thrown to the floor and left there, nicknacks strewn haphazardly around it where a side table had been tipped over. She tried some light switches, and the tap in the bathroom, but nothing happened. The bedroom was likewise left as though abandoned in a hurry, closets and drawers open, with only a few items left behind. 

She let herself relax finally. If nothing else she could rest for the remainder of the night and try to get her bearings or find some help come daytime. With the ATV hidden, she doubted anyone would bother investigating there; it clearly had sat unused for some time. 

She shook out the bedclothes, just to be sure there were no animals nesting in them, and collapsed, exhausted on the bed. It was far from ideal, but she was safe for the moment. A few hours of sleep and she would try again to find her way out of the cult’s grip. 

When she woke up, sunlight was streaming through the windows. She felt stiff and tired, as well as hungry and thirsty. The house was too warm, and she was sweaty under the long sleeved shirt. 

First she went through what was left in the closet and drawers. Nothing particularly usable as far as pants had been left, but she found a tee shirt with a picture of a bear eating a cheeseburger on it, and a light flannel shirt to pull over it. At least she wasn’t marked as belonging to Eden’s Gate. She tucked her necklace with the rings under the shirt, and found a bandanna to tie her hair back.

In the kitchen, it appeared that most of what was left had been claimed by animals already. She went through the cabinets, deciding against trying the refrigerator. There was no telling how long the electricity had been off, so she imagined anything inside it was not worth investigating. Better to let it stay closed.

Fortunately, rooting around in the cabinets yielded a can of ravioli that wasn’t yet out of date, as well as a dusty, but sealed, six pack of soda. 

The television was broken and the power was out, but she found a radio with batteries in it that had some life left. She sat down at the table with her scavenged breakfast, tuning through the stations. 

Apparently the cult had its hands in everything. The vast majority of stations that she could pick up were broadcasts of music like she’d heard at Joseph’s. She listened for a time, but it seemed there were only a handful of songs and a few themes. The end of the world, fighting against ‘sinners’, and songs of praise about Joseph, John, Jacob, and Faith. 

She needed, she supposed, to figure out where she was. That was probably easier said than done. She would need a frame of reference, and a map. It was possible she could find a street name if she wandered to a crossroads and there was a sign, but without a map she doubted that would help much. Not to mention she was surely still being hunted. Joseph didn’t seem likely to give up after only a few hours.

The ATV was still in the shed, and she’d not gone through the saddlebags thoroughly yet, so there might be a map. If she were quick and careful, it was possible she could drive somewhere she could find a sign, check her map, and get a route to somewhere safe. 

Was anywhere safe?

She pushed the thought away for the time being. Somewhere with more people at least would have a good chance of having non-cultists. And surely if she made it to the police someone would help her. It was really the only chance she had. 

Swallowing down the last of her bottle of soda, she stuffed the flashlight in her pocket and went outside. It was bright out, with no trace of the stormclouds from the day before. That would make riding the ATV more pleasant at least. 

She was halfway to the shed when she heard the crack of a gunshot and something small and painful hit her in the chest. 

Olivia staggered, instinctively putting a hand to the impact and feeling something wet. A cold thrill of fear coursed through her as she realized she’d been shot, and she raised her hand, expecting to see blood coating it. Instead, something green and sweet-smelling clung to her fingers. 

She recognized the scent. Flowers, like the ones Joseph and Faith had used to drug her. 

She tried to run, but her legs were already wobbling. A second shot took her in the back, knocking her to her knees. She shook her head, trying to keep her thoughts together as the world sparkled around her. It was much more intense than the flower had been, and worked much faster. She couldn’t seem to make her legs work properly. She managed briefly to climb to one knee, but the moment she tried to push herself up again she found herself sitting in the grass. 

The world was a riot of color and light, and any sense of urgency floated away as she marveled at the beauty around her. Fascinated, she watched butterflies dance around her, leaving trails of glimmering sparks. She reached out, trying to touch them but they were always just out of reach, and it was very hard to move her legs. She heard footsteps to one side and looked up as a deer approached, looking down at her with large, dark eyes. 

“Oh, pretty deer,” she cooed, reaching a hand toward it. There was somewhere she was supposed to be going, she thought, but it seemed unimportant now.

The deer chuckled in a man’s voice. “Well, she’s trippin’ balls,” it said. 

Olivia swayed, feeling heavy. She put a hand on the ground to try to steady herself as a huge rabbit bounded up next to the deer. She wanted to touch them, they looked so soft. But the ground wasn’t stable and she was so tired.

“One shot probably would have done it,” the rabbit observed. “That’s her, though, right?”

Olivia shook her head, trying to clear it as her vision swam. “It’s me? Am I her?” she mumbled. The conversation sounded important, but she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it.

“Yeah, has to be,” replied the deer, walking up to her. “Come on, let’s pour her in the truck. John’s going to be thrilled.”

The two animals crowded around her, and she was floating in the air. 

* * *

When she came to, things were much less bright and cheerful. 

Olivia found herself sitting in a hard chair. From the ache in her neck she figured her head had been hanging at an awkward angle for some time. When she tried to reach up to rub away the soreness, she realized her wrists were held fast to the armrests with thick leather straps. 

She snapped alert, thrashing. She was in a chair in the center of a dim room. The light hanging above her was the only illumination at the moment. The chair was dark and sturdy wood, and clearly custom made for the restraint of prisoners. The leather straps were bolted into the armrests. Her ankles felt similarly held, and the chair didn’t even wobble as she struggled, apparently affixed to the floor. 

To one side, she saw a workbench, and with mounting panic she realized that the neatly hung tools weren’t matched for a particular task, and many weren’t tools in the traditional sense at all. Among the pliers and utility knives and screwdrivers hung things that would have been more at home in a hospital or dentist’s office. Or a pretty serious BDSM store. The only real unifying theme was that they were all of the sharp and/or painful variety. She swallowed, her mouth dry. 

It was a torture chamber. 

“Ah, welcome back.” She’d been so fixed on the workbench she hadn’t even noticed the man in the shadowed corner of the room. “You were out for a while. Those Bliss bullets are something, aren’t they? Hope you enjoyed the trip, because this next part isn’t going to be nearly as pleasant.” He stepped closer. 

He was handsome. She’d noticed that the first night of the nightmare that began at the bar. Dark hair slicked back neatly, his beard carefully trimmed. His shirt open just enough to show a tease of chest, his sleeves rolled up on toned, tattooed forearms. Jeans sitting just so on his slender hips. Eyes the aquamarine of caribbean waters. 

He held a large hunting knife loosely in one hand, wagging it at her like an admonishing finger. “You, little lamb, have made my brother very upset.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth. 

Olivia went still, watching him. Watching the knife. “Have I?” she asked in a thin voice. 

“Oh yes,” he said. He loomed over her, putting the flat of the blade against one cheek then the other, forcing her to turn her head from side to side as he considered her. “He’s been absolutely frantic looking for you, little miss Olivia,” he purred. 

She tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

He chuckled softly, tapping her under the chin with the knife. “No, you aren’t. But… well, I think you will be. In due time.”

She’d thought anything would be better than Joseph. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Joseph was methodical and calm, his violence terrible, but at least purposeful. This man was a predator, a cat toying with its prey for no other reason than the enjoyment of sadism. She had no doubt at all that the things hanging on his workbench weren’t just for show. 

“You should probably call him, then,” she said. “He’s going to want me back.”

The man tisked, the little smile never leaving his face. “Oh, he certainly will. He’s really very insistent. It’s unusual for him.” He tilted his head, staring at her, the blade still under her chin. “I wonder what it is about you that has him so interested. Why he cares so much. What is it in you that he sees as so special.” His voice hardened as he spoke, and for a moment he looked very much like he was considering taking her apart to figure it out. “Why is he giving you so much attention?”

Olivia whimpered as the blade started digging into her skin. “I--I don’t know--”

He took the knife away, back to smiling, as though the darkness never happened. “Well. God works in mysterious ways, eh? Let’s give Joseph a call and see what we’re going to do with you.”

She didn’t like the way he said it. As though he knew something she didn’t.

He opened a cabinet, flicking a switch and bringing a radio to life. Leaning casually against the wall, he brought the microphone up and pressed the transmit button. “Joseph, are you listening? It’s John. I have something to tell you.”

There was a moment of crackling static, and then Joseph’s voice drifted from the speakers. “John? What is it?” He sounded almost impatient. 

John gave her a smile. “Well, I thought you’d like to know that some of my Chosen brought me your little lost lamb.”

The reply was immediate. “Olivia? Is she all right?”

“Oh, yes. Right here with me, in fact. Shaking off the Bliss, but fine, if a little bedraggled.” He winked at her. 

“Where was she? Is she awake?” Joseph’s voice had gone calm and measured again. For some reason that made her even more nervous than if he’d been angry. 

“Well, since no one had reported a sighting, I figured she must have hid somewhere, so I sent out patrols to check the empty buildings. And lo and behold one of them caught her creeping out of a house this morning. And yes, she’s awake.” He glanced at her, arching an eyebrow. “Want to say hello?” he asked, offering the microphone. 

She didn’t know what to say. She’d broken a window and run away, and now was in his clearly crazy brother’s torture chamber. She swallowed. “Joseph? I-I’m here--” she began, but John clicked the microphone off. 

“Olivia--I am relieved you’re alive,” Joseph said. “What you did was foolish. If John’s Chosen hadn’t found you, things could have been much worse. You should not have run.”

“I think she understands that now, at least,” John said. His azure eyes slid over to her, a little smirk forming as he continued in a voice full of concern. ”Though, Joseph, I have to say her behavior has been shocking. Theft, breaking and entering… and her language…” He turned off the microphone before she could protest. 

Joseph’s end was quiet for a long moment. “I am thankful that you found her,” he said. “Though I had hoped that such behavior was behind us.”

“I take it she hadn’t quite made it to confession and atonement,” John observed, watching her with narrowed eyes and a predatory smile. 

“I know what you’re implying, John,” Joseph said. For a split second she saw fear cross John’s face. Then, Joseph continued. “Though perhaps you’re right. I may have allowed myself to be… softer than I should have with her.”

Olivia’s stomach dropped. “No, no no, Joseph--” she began. But John had the microphone turned off. 

“Olivia,” Joseph said. “Don’t doubt that I love you, my child. As I love all my children. However, at times, a child must be punished.”

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Surely Joseph had to know. He  _ had _ to know what he was giving her to. 

“It was perhaps my own error to trust you too soon, but you have shown you are still shackled with your sins,” he continued. “John is not as… gentle as I, and your confession and atonement will be harsh, but know he is there to help you. Perhaps some time with him will help you to reflect on your actions.”

John smiled smugly as he brought up the microphone. “I’ll see to her, Joseph. You have my word.”

“I will expect you to keep me informed,” Joseph said, pausing a moment. “And, John?”

“Yes, Joseph?” John asked, his voice light. 

For the first time, Joseph almost sounded hesitant. “John. Please … try to avoid anything too… damaging.”

“Of course, Joseph. Nothing she can’t heal from,” John replied. He flicked off the radio as Olivia stared at it in disbelief. “Eventually,” he purred.

John closed the cabinet with a flourish. “Well then. It seems we’re about to spend some quality time together, little lamb.”.

Her heart pounding, she could only stare numbly as he turned toward her, looking for all the world like it was Christmas morning and she was the biggest, shiniest present under the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to keep up writing through grad school!
> 
> Next chapter is going to get weird, and contains roughly 2/3 of the tags. You have been warned. (But honestly it's *John* so you shouldn't be surprised.)


	10. Pretty When You Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia is at John's mercy as he insists she makes her confession.
> 
> Unfortunately for her, John's mercy is in short supply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence and torture, both physical and emotional in this chapter. 
> 
> John being John, in other words.

Olivia would have thought the stuff hanging on the workbench was sufficient, but John opened a toolbox and started lining up items across the surface, humming as he worked. She couldn’t see what half of them were from her angle, but she was sure he was deliberately psyching her out. Psychological torture to precede the physical.

While his back was turned, she tried to pull out of the straps holding her, but they’d been cinched tightly enough that she had no hope of slipping out. Finally, he turned, leaning back against the workbench and regarding her with what would have been under normal circumstances a charming smile.

“Now, let’s talk about what happens in here,” he said. 

Olivia glanced at the tools lined up behind him. “I think I’ve worked that out for myself, thanks,” she said. It may not have been the best idea to sass at him, but she wasn’t sure her situation  _ could _ get worse. 

He smirked slightly. “No, actually, I don’t think you have. Not quite anyhow.” He made a gesture that encompassed the room they were in. “This is a confessional. One of several here and there for convenience sake, but this is my personal favorite. It’s much more… private than some of the others.”

She swallowed nervously. “What’s with all the… stuff, then?”

“We’ll get to that,” he purred. “First, I want to assure you, nothing you tell me will go beyond these four walls.” He paused, arching an eyebrow at her. “Six, if you want to be pedantic and include the floor and ceiling. You seem like the type.”

“Thanks?” she said. 

“Wasn’t a compliment,” he told her. 

She shrugged. 

“And, I am not here to judge you. No matter how… messy the confession becomes. We all carry the burden of sin. You’d be surprised at how… deeply.” He pushed off the workbench and came forward, gently tipping her face up with one hand. “I’m here to help you, just like Joseph said. But what I need from you first, is to say yes. Yes, you will confess. Yes, you will atone.”

She pulled back from his touch. “I don’t have anything to confess.”

John put his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “Why, I must be in the presence of an angel!” Now that he was closer in the dim light, and she wasn’t focused on a knife, she saw the tattoo on his chest, hard lines forming the word  _ SLOTH _ . The tattoo had been struck through, two scars still looking fresh and pink. John chuckled, shaking his head. “We both know that’s not true. Pretty as one, perhaps, I’ll give you.” He winked. “But when I first saw you, I’m not sure you could walk straight.”

She scowled at him. “Yeah, so I had a few. You and Joseph have both been harping about that.”

John gave her a small smile. “I’m sure. You know, I’m not sure Joseph’s ever had a drink in his life? It’s true. I, on the other hand… Well, I’m not sure there’s a drink or drug I haven’t tried at one time or another. So I wonder, were you trying to forget something? Numb yourself? Feel free for a time? What was it you were looking for?” 

He understood far too much. She tried to hide her reaction by glaring at him, though she was afraid he saw through it. “Just having a good time,” she said. 

John nodded, clearly expecting that reaction. “I’d like to get to know you a little, Olivia. Before we really begin. I sense that you’ll be recalcitrant, though. So let’s play a little game, hmm? I’m going to see if I can guess a few things about you. You’ll probably lie, of course, but we’ll address that with the rest of your sins.”

She didn’t like where this was going at all, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. “Whatever you want, Mr. Seed,” she said. 

He chuckled, pulling off the bandanna that tied her hair back. “You know, back in less enlightened times they thought redheads were witches. Or vampires. I suppose that one could be due to the pale skin.”

“I’m neither,” she said, nervous about how close he was getting. 

“But you are a natural redhead, aren’t you? No grown-out roots. Jacob’s a redhead. He got freckles when he was in the sun a lot,” he mused. “You’re pale as milk and undotted, so I’m guessing you’re not much of the outdoors type as a general rule. Joseph was right, you’re lucky we found you before you got mauled by a bear. You had no idea what you were doing, did you?” John smiled slightly. “But you just ran off into the night. Gutsy. Truly bad idea, but you don’t lack for courage.”

She shrugged at that. “Didn’t see much alternative.”

“You could have stayed where you were safe,” he chided. “Stubborn, too, I’m guessing.” He slid his fingertips down her arm and stroked over her hand, feeling her palms and each digit. “Soft hands, but no manicure in a while. You’ve kept your hair trimmed, I’ll bet you kept your nails well too, but you haven’t been bothering lately.” He paused, looking her in the eyes. “Still going to tell me you were perfectly happy and just having a good time?”

She grit her teeth, looking away. 

John chuckled, lifting the sleeve of her tee shirt next. “Ah, I thought I saw some ink peeking out from under there,” he said, examining the tattoo. “You know, I’m a tattoo artist myself. Most of mine I had done, of course, but I’ve given myself a few as well.” He considered her shoulder a moment. “A peacock feather. Pretty, delicate, a bit whimsical. It suits you.”

Then, he did the very thing she feared most. She couldn’t stop him with her wrists strapped to the arms of the chair. She saw his gaze drift to her neck, and he reached for the gold chain there. Instinctively, she flinched back, trying to keep him from it. 

“Oh, now there’s something important,” he said. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not a thief, darling. I just want to see what you have there.”

“No, don’t,” Olivia whimpered as he pulled at the chain, suddenly afraid. He would know too much if he saw the rings. 

If anything, her plea made him more intent. He pulled the chain out of her shirt and paused, staring at the gold bands lying on his hand. He tilted them, letting them clink together softly before he looked back up at her. “I see,” he said. He wasn’t smiling at least. He lifted the larger of the two and examined it briefly, probably looking for an inscription. When he didn’t find anything he let the necklace drop back onto her chest. “Is that the hole you were trying to fill with alcohol?” he asked.

“Fuck you!” she spat, before she could stop herself. 

Unlike Joseph, he didn’t seem perturbed by her curse. He merely nodded. “I think I’m starting to get to know you, my child.”

“You don’t know anything, Mr. Seed,” she growled. She hated feeling so vulnerable. Having him know, having him see the source of her pain was worse than being tied to the chair. 

“I think I do. And you can call me John, you know. There’s no need for honorifics here.”

She hated herself for wincing when he said it. He was watching her for a reaction, and his face lit with understanding. 

“Oh, that was his name, wasn’t it? John.” He cupped her cheek, smiling down at her. “I think it’s fitting. His loss turned you down a dark path, and now I’m here to bring you back into the light.”

She yanked away from him angrily. “Go fuck yourself.”

He chuckled. “Joseph had his hands full with you, didn’t he?” John’s humor disappeared suddenly, his expression dark and his eyes hard. “He must really think a lot of you to be so patient.”

He frowned down at her a moment, then went to the workbench, returning with his hunting knife. “Now, Joseph’s already handled the baptism, so what we’re here for now is confession. But before we get started, I need to hear something from you.” He pointed the blade at her. “I need to hear you say ‘yes’. I need to hear you say yes, you are a sinner. Yes, you will confess. Yes you will lay your sins bare. It will be difficult, it will be painful, but I promise, you will not regret it.”

Olivia watched him nervously. She didn’t want any part of what he was offering, though she was well and truly trapped with him. Joseph wanted him to avoid anything too ‘damaging’ though that left a lot of ground for unpleasantness even in her mind. She clenched her teeth angrily. “I’m not playing your games,” she said. “I’m not part of your cult, and I don’t want to be.”

John tisked, shaking his head. “I’m trying to help you.” He sighed, considering her. “You can be free of sin. You can be cleansed. You can have a new life. You can’t tell me you were happy in your old one.” He smiled just a little, stroking his knuckles across her cheek. “I know, it’s frightening. To spill so much of yourself, to endure the pain. But I’ll be right here with you. I already know you have the courage to do this. And when you emerge from it, you will be free. Clear. But first, you have to accept it. This is the power of Yes. All you have to do is say it. It’s just one word.”

She clamped her mouth shut, looking away. She was afraid of what he would do, but if she gave in he would know he could make her give in again. And again. 

He straightened with a frustrated growl. “Fine. I knew you’d be stubborn. I guess I’ll just have to... convince you.” His expression was predatory. “Feel free to say the word at any time.” She thought he looked at least a little pleased by her refusal, and that made her heart drop. 

John tapped his chin with the knife and walked behind her. She heard the click of latches, and suddenly the back of the chair was gone. He set it to the side next to the workbench and smiled brightly. “Custom,” he explained cheerfully. “Gives me a bit more room to work.” He smirked, coming back and trailing the knife along her arm as he circled behind her again. He pushed her hair over her shoulder to get it out of the way.

She struggled as he sliced up the back of her shirt with the blade, but the straps on the chair held her fast. John chuckled softly as he pushed the fabric aside.

“There are so many tools to choose from. Now, how shall we begin--” he purred, then broke off, going still.

She knew it wasn’t the tattoos that stopped him. Acid green fairy wings spread over her shoulders and upper back, and they were good work. It was what they tried to hide that gave him pause. She was sure of it when she felt his fingertip trace gently over one of the scars across her back. She hunched, caught between humiliation and fear. She couldn’t see him to read his expression, but squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to get on with adding more to the collection. Instead he was quiet a long moment, fingers barely grazing her skin, as though he were, inconguously, afraid of hurting her. 

Neither of them said a word as he stood behind her for what felt like an eternity. She wondered what it was for him. When he spoke again the purr, the arrogance, the sadism had gone out of his voice. 

“Perhaps… something else,” he said softly. If he’d been anyone else she’d have almost thought she heard sympathy. 

It made her angry. She didn’t need his pity. “Wouldn’t have thought you of all people would get squeamish about scars,” she spat, though her voice quavered, betraying the fear and shame she was trying to cover in anger.

Instead of replying, he closed the back of her shirt carefully, and pulled her hair back from over her shoulder, walking around so he could face her. He still had the knife, held loosely in one hand, but his expression was unreadable. 

“I know you, little lamb,” he said. “I know you better than you think. Joseph didn’t understand you. That’s why he couldn’t hold on to you.” He cupped her cheek, tenderly, his blue eyes shockingly soft, his smile warm. “My poor broken child. I promise you I can put you back together.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning into the touch. “But I’ll have to break you again first.”

She tried to fight him as he released her left arm, turning it over to bare the soft skin of her forearm before winding silver tape around her wrist and at her elbow, effectively immobilizing her with the tender, pale skin exposed. He ignored her struggling as he pulled over a stool, and set up a table next to it. To her relief, he didn’t go to his workbench, though he disappeared behind her, deeper into the room. A few moments later he returned carrying what she recognized as a tattoo gun, along with bottles of ink and alcohol. He sat down, arranging his things on the table next to him. 

“Now, I noticed you have some ink already so you’re not unfamiliar with the process,” he said, wiping disinfectant down her forearm. He spoke casually, calmly, as though she wasn’t struggling and cursing, demanding to know what he thought he was doing. “This is an extremely tender area. Lots of nerve endings, but a lovely canvas. Particularly on a redhead. I do love that milky white skin, my dear. Just begging for ink.” He gave her a smile.

She glared at him. “Let me go,” she growled. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the pain of tattoos, he was correct, but she’d never gotten one in a truly sensitive spot. And she had a feeling he wasn’t going to be kind enough to give breaks for the pain to fade. 

John chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Now now, we haven’t even started. I promise to do my best work for you. However, it’s going to be… unpleasant.” He met her eyes. “You know what I want to hear. We’ll be inking you either way but, well. Things can be easier or harder. So what do you say, Olivia? Will you make your confession?”

“Go to hell,” she snarled. She was a little afraid, it was true, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. 

He narrowed his eyes, though there was a hint of a smile there. “Let’s see how long that bravado lasts.”

Then the machine was buzzing and he started. 

Often, the first little bit of a tattoo wasn’t so bad. It would sting, of course, but usually it took time to build up into pain. Unfortunately, he’d been right. The inside of her forearm was sensitive.

She bit back a whimper as he drew the first lines, slowly and deliberately, and definitely deeper than he really needed to. The stinging flared immediately and left behind a burning pain she knew would only get worse the longer he worked. He hummed softly, one of the cult’s songs, as he worked. Occasionally his blue eyes darted up to her face to see if she was reacting.

It was quickly apparent what he was inking into her skin: the cult’s flower-cross symbol. Any other time she might have admired his line work, particularly with her not holding still. The tape affixing her to the armrest held her fairly steady, though. 

He worked from the outside inward, which only made things worse, the pain increasing as he moved toward the center. And this was only the outline. She managed to be silent for several lines, but his relentless, steady working soon wrenched a soft groan out of her. 

He didn’t pause, but a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Keep in mind, my dear, all you have to say is ‘yes’.”

“Fuck you,” she said. She tried to hiss it, but it sounded much more like a whimper. 

“So much anger,” he said. “But that’s a facade, isn’t it? I know Wrath, and that’s not you, I think. You want to be angry because it’s easier than the alternative, isn’t it?”

“Alternative this,” she panted, flipping him off as well as she could while restrained. 

“Still not what I want to hear. But we have a long, long way to go on this tattoo.” 

He was relentless. Every line worked slowly and deliberately, his pace steady and never stopping. Even his brief pauses to reload his machine with ink brought no relief. Slowly, the stinging grew hotter and more intense, blossoming into a burn that only grew as he worked. 

“You use that anger to push people away, don’t you?” he said, after a long silence broken only by her whimpers. “Because one way or another you’ve been hurt by those you were close to. Let down by the ones who should have cared for you, hurt and treated poorly. Abused by the ones who should have loved you. Made to think you were lesser. Unworthy of love.” His voice was quiet, and he didn’t look up from his work. 

Between his words and the pain, she felt tears prick up in her eyes, and turned her head to try to keep him from seeing them. 

“And… even when you found the courage to let your guard down, that love was taken from you again, wasn’t it?” There was the briefest of pauses as he pulled her necklace lightly, letting it fall back on to her chest, the rings tinkling softly. “So you’re angry at the world. At God and all of his creation.”

She couldn’t stop a sob from escaping. The pain of the tattoo filled her whole world, mixing with his words and it felt like breaking. If he felt any sympathy for her, he didn’t let it stop his assault, and the tattoo gun buzzed on.

“I understand, Olivia. I do. Truly. You are not as alone as you think. I’m not here to judge you. I am here to help you and unburden you from sin. It is so freeing. You won’t regret it, I promise you. I’ll be right here, I’ll guide you through everything. All you have to do is accept.”

His voice, so gentle, warred with the hot pain in her arm, the tears now flowing freely, and the sobbing she couldn’t seem to control. She gasped for breath and all she could think of was making this stop, if even for a moment. Somehow she got her voice to work, moaning what she knew he wanted to hear. “Yes…” 

The buzzing stopped immediately, letting the tattoo fade to a dull ache. John’s hands were suddenly on her cheeks, tipping her face up. She tried to pull away, embarrassed by the tears and snot, but he held her fast, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“That was hard for you, wasn’t it?” he cooed. “I knew I could reach you. I knew Joseph couldn’t understand you like I could.” He took up a cloth, gently wiping her face with it. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you should have been with me.”

He was far too self-satisfied, and he seemed vaguely possessive, but all she could really care about for the moment was that he’d stopped hurting her. 

She let him stroke her hair as she caught her breath, though the reprieve wasn’t long. All too soon, he took up the tattoo gun again. She whimpered, but he pushed her hair out of her eyes and smiled. 

“Now we get started. You can do this. I know you can,” he said. “Make your confession.” 

He put the needle to her skin again and she yelped. “I-I don’t--I don’t know how…”

“I think that night we met is a good place to start,” he said, not taking his eyes off his work. “Tell me why you were drinking.”

Olivia sobbed softly. She hated how quickly she broke down, but the pain and exhaustion and fear of the past several days seemed to land squarely on her shoulders as John inflicted slowly-building agony on her. 

“I just wanted to stop hating everything,” she managed. 

“Everything?” He paused to wipe away the excess ink and blood. The relief was all too brief before he started again. 

“Yes, everything,” she snarled. “M-myself, the world. E-everyone else.”

John tilted his head thoughtfully. “Hating yourself is often the result of sin,” he said. “The world, well, I won’t deny that’s a mess. Why everyone else?”

She wanted to come up with something clever, or evasive. But the pain in her arm had invaded her whole being. A relentless assault of small hurts that had built into an absolute, fiery agony. She had managed not to scream, though it was bubbling up in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She was weeping openly now, heedless of dignity or anything else. 

“Because--because they’re happy!” she exploded. “B-because they got to have good parents that didn’t hurt them. They got to keep their husbands a-and wives and h-have happy families. And my only happiness... John…” she trailed off sobs wracking her. She wasn’t sure if it was the torture or being forced to speak about her loss that hurt worse. 

It took several long moments to realize he’d stopped. She felt light-headed, her breath coming in gasps. John’s hand was in her hair, rubbing the back of her neck gently. 

“I should have known,” he said softly. He was very close. As she blinked away tears she realized he had her head resting on his shoulder. “My poor, broken lamb. It was written in those big green eyes. Envy.” He pulled back after a moment, letting her lift her head. “Our sins only hurt us in the end,” he told her. “Envy is one of the most pernicious, never letting you rest or be satisfied. You’ll never be happy if you keep it.”

He sat back a bit, wiping off her arm. The cool of the alcohol was a relief after the burn of the needles. The flower-cross was finished, somehow. The lines crisp and black against her reddened skin. 

He paused, looking up at her again. “I’m going to mark you with your sin now,” he told her. “Eventually, you’ll achieve atonement.” He pulled down her ruined shirt, exposing her left collarbone, and traced along it with a fingertip. “Ordinarily we cut sins out like a cancer. That’s… mostly symbolic I admit. And I’d hate to mar such a lovely canvas, so perhaps we’ll see about doing something a bit different, hm?” he gestured to his own sin, etched on his chest and slashed across. 

Olivia was feeling light-headed still, her mouth dry, a vague nausea threatening. She wanted to lean on something, but the backrest was still gone. 

She shook her head. “John, please,” she said softly. “I can’t.”

John cupped her cheek again, his blue eyes meeting hers. “You can,” he said. “I promise, you can.”

The tattoo gun pressing into the skin over her collarbone was almost immediately intolerable. The vibrations felt like they reverberated through her entire torso. She screamed, trying to arch away, but John wrapped an arm around her, trapping her against his body. 

“It’s all right,” he purred in her ear. “You’re nearly there.”

Slowly, relentlessly, he etched into her skin, each letter in careful script unlike his own tattoo. In the end she slumped against him bonelessly, helpless to cry out or struggle any longer. When at long last the buzzing of the machine stopped, the relief was almost too much.

She was only marginally aware of him unbuckling the straps and slicing through the tape that held her fast. He didn’t try to make her stand, instead scooping her up like a bride. Everything seemed very distant and fading, and when her head rested against his shoulder, she saw no reason to try to move. 

The last thing she was aware of were his deep blue eyes, and his voice in her ear. 

“You did beautifully.”


	11. Face To Face, My Lovely Foe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia wakes up after her confession to find John is an excellent host.

For the second time that week, Olivia woke up in a strange room. 

This one, however, was very different than the modest, cheerful bedroom in Joseph’s home. The bed she lay in was huge, with carved wood head and footboard, all in deep colors. The red sheets that slid against her skin were luxuriously soft, and the neatly turned down bedspread matched the room in tasteful expensiveness. 

Someone had set out a bottle of water and a blister pack of painkillers on the bedside table, both of which she welcomed as she tried to get her bearings. 

The tattoo on her arm and the one on her collarbone had been bandaged neatly, as had her hand she’d hurt falling into the bush at Joseph’s. She’d also been undressed down to her bra and panties. She felt dehydrated and sore, and it took some moments to remember what had happened, exactly. 

The house she was in had to belong to John. From the exposed-beam ceiling above to the polished hardwood floors it seemed like his sort of thing. Expensive but not gaudy, rustic but tasteful. She was on an upper floor; large french doors across from the bed led out to a little balcony with a table and two chairs.

She felt a little weak as she stood, but her legs steadied after a few steps. At the end of the bed was a large wooden storage trunk with a plush green robe laid out on it, matching slippers on the floor beside it. Several sets of clothes lay neatly folded there as well, along with expensive looking underwear, including bras in her size. Clearly they were gifts from John. She tried to decide how she ought to feel about that. He’d hurt her. She felt wrung out emotionally and physically. She’d told him things she’d never said to anyone, and she wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been torturing the words out of her. 

On the other hand, he’d been right about one thing. She didn’t know about all the ‘sin’ business, and she still didn’t trust Eden’s Gate, but admitting what she felt had lifted a burden.

Or maybe she was just still in shock. 

Either way, she had fresh clothes waiting for her, and she itched for a shower. 

The bathroom was as sumptuous as the rest, and was clearly set up in waiting for her. Tattoo ointment had been laid out on the vanity, and the huge glass-walled shower was stocked with shampoo and conditioner she recognized from the salon. She’d also been provided with thick towels, a sea sponge, and an array of body wash, scrub, lotion, and spray, all in honeysuckle fragrance. And of course mild soap to take care of her fresh ink. He’d even left a selection of hair products. It was a far cry from the simple and plain accommodations at Joseph’s home, but she wasn’t surprised. John struck her as someone who’d developed expensive tastes and was reluctant to let that go. Then again, if the world was going to end one might as well splurge in the meantime. All things considered, she couldn’t help but agree. 

The shower was one of the nicest she’d ever experienced, the water raining down from above, warm and steady. The shower itself roomy and beautifully tiled, tasteful and expensive like everything else. 

She took her time, washing her hair, using the delightful smelling bath products, and carefully cleaning off her new tattoos. 

She was a bit ambivalent about those. They were good work. The lines were crisp, the black ink deep and consistent. The script on her collarbone was surprisingly pretty, considering the amount of writhing she’d been doing. On the other hand, she hadn’t asked for them, and wasn’t at all certain she was happy to be marked with the cult’s symbol, or a sin. She washed over the tattoos carefully with the mild soap he’d left. They were still painful, but didn’t seem to be oozing for the moment. He’d put them in deeply; it seemed unlikely they’d be fading anytime soon. Part of her wanted to remove them, or get them covered as soon as possible. On the other hand, in a way they were visible representation of what she’d overcome.

She used the tattoo ointment, and luxuriated in the hair cream John had left her, working it through her red waves. He’d even left some expensive face soap and moisturisers. She wondered how long she’d been out. Had he sent out for all of this or did he have a closet somewhere just in case he had a woman staying? She could honestly see it either way; John seemed the type to be prepared for that sort of thing. However, checking the expiration dates on the creams indicated they were new. And the bras at least had to be.

Despite herself, she was curious. Everything about John said he was a sadist, and dangerous. He’d been all too happy to have her in his torture chamber, and he’d been clearly delighted at the prospect of hurting her. 

At the same time he’d seemed very much convinced that he was somehow helping her by putting her through all of that. He’d started off downright gleeful, but at the end… 

_ You did beautifully _ . He’d sounded proud of her. 

She traced the tattoo along her collarbone.  _ Envy _ . While he’d branded her with a sin, he’d at least taken the time for careful lettering, though a more haphazard hand would have gone quicker and less painfully. She wondered how he would decide if she’d atoned enough, and what he’d do then. Strike through it somehow, like his? Cutting it out like cancer didn’t sound pleasant at all. Not that slashing it through did, but she’d prefer the less painful of the two procedures.

Wandering back to the bedroom, she picked through the clothes left for her on the chest. Everything looked new, and smelled like they’d just come out of the dryer. She chose a soft pair of silk pants and a flowy shirt that was surprisingly modest, considering who’d likely picked it out. 

Outside the sun was still up, though dipping low on the horizon. She supposed it could be coming up as well, but she didn’t feel like she’d been out for that long. The view from the balcony was beautiful, lush with trees and a lake in the distance. She appeared to be on the side of the house, and she saw what looked like a wide road toward the front. A glance down told her trying to climb down the side of the building would be inadvisable. It was a cabin, the outside walls made of logs that provided at least some form of handholds and footholds, but it was a long way down owing to the house being built on a rise. It also lacked any sort of bushes to even try to break a fall. 

With only one way to go, she opened the bedroom door.

The hallway had a railing opposite her room, leaving the space above the living room open all the way to the exposed rafters. Below, artfully arranged couches and overstuffed chairs flanked a huge fireplace. Here and there in the hallway and below were trophies. A wolf snarled from the end of her hall, a bear reared next to the fireplace, and several antlered heads dotted the walls. She wrinkled her nose at that, but otherwise the house was lovely. There also didn’t seem to be any guards outside her door. 

She heard the clink of dishes from below, and smelled food. Curious, she headed downstairs, following the noise. 

The kitchen was no less impressive than the rest, with a huge gas stove, countertops full of gadgets, and a wide island occupied by a knife block and an enormous wooden cutting board. John was at the stove, sleeves rolled up as before, a kitchen towel tossed casually over one shoulder. He glanced up as she came in, and grinned toothily. 

“Ah! Excellent timing. I thought I might have to go up and wake you. Are you hungry?” He took up a whisk and started whipping something in a double-boiler. 

She was hungry indeed, now that she thought about it, though it was hard to concentrate on that when she was puzzled by John himself. “Yeah, I am,” she said, because he seemed to be expecting an answer. 

“Have a seat. I’m almost done,” he replied, nodding to the island, where two place settings waited. “I tend to enjoy breakfast for dinner occasionally. I hope you like eggs benedict?” His expression was oddly uncertain for a moment, as though he was in fact concerned about pleasing her. 

Olivia slid onto one of the bar stools at the island, still feeling a bit off balance. “I do, yes,” she replied. “Quite a lot, though it takes a miracle to make a hollandaise that doesn’t break, in my experience anyway.”

John grinned at that. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that God is on my side.” He set aside what he was working on and took up a large french press, already full of dark, delicious smelling liquid. He pressed the plunger slowly. “Coffee?”

Olivia nodded eagerly. “Yes, absolutely, please. I love those things. Cleanup is a pain, though,” she observed. 

John chuckled, pulling her cup to him and filling it. “One of the benefits of having someone else to do the dishes, I suppose.” He winked. 

She took a sip, savoring the brew before looking back up at him. “Do you always cook for people you torture?”

She was a little afraid he’d be annoyed with her, but he chuckled. “Not generally, no,” he said. He turned back to the stove, taking the two plates with him. “And we need to work on your terminology. That was a confession.” He assembled the plates, bringing them back and setting one in front of her before taking his own seat. 

The food looked perfect. English muffins toasted golden-brown, a very slight sear on the ham, poached eggs she could already tell had runny yolks, and a golden hollandaise sauce that had come out excellently. He’d even sprinkled chopped chives on top. The dish was relatively simple, but it took finesse to make. “I’m impressed,” she admitted. “It looks like a magazine spread.”

John smiled, giving her a little nod. “Thank you. Hopefully the taste will measure up to the presentation.” 

He sat next to her, not so close as to be uncomfortable, but definitely in arm’s reach. She started to reach for her utensils then remembered Joseph’s insistence on praying, and hesitated. She folded her hands in front of her quickly, and looked up at him. 

John already had his fork in one hand and the knife in the other. He paused as she looked up at him, and she thought she saw the barest flicker of a frown. “Ah, yes. Sorry, not used to company.” He sighed softly, folding his hands and bowing his head. “Lord God, we are grateful for this food, for Father Joseph, and for the opportunity to care for this lost lamb. May you keep us safe as we approach the Collapse, and may you forgive us our sins. Amen.” 

He smiled a bit as he took up his fork again, and nodded to her. “Go on, before it gets cold.”

Cutting into the yolk spilled it over the muffin in a warm, golden rush that made her mouth water. The first bite was utterly delicious and she closed her eyes, unable to keep herself from an audible “mmm”. 

John chuckled, glancing over at her. “I take it you approve,” he said. He looked proud as a damn peacock, and part of her hated to feed into his ego. On the other hand, she’d already made it clear she was enjoying it. 

“It’s okay,” she said drily. 

He laughed, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, you were  _ wasted _ on Joseph. He hasn’t got much of a sense of humor.”

“I noticed,” she replied. 

“Then again, I suppose he’s got a lot on his mind,” he said, almost glumly. He stared down at his plate, dragging a forkful of food through the egg yolk. “Little time or energy for much but preparing for the Collapse.”

She recalled how interested he was in how much attention Joseph was paying her. Was it because he thought her a distraction from their work, or a distraction from their family bond?

She wasn’t about to ask that question, and instead glanced around the kitchen. “He certainly didn’t devote this much time to his house,” she observed. 

John smirked slightly. “I tried to get him something a bit more grand, but he insisted he was content with that one. I’m used to more luxurious surroundings, so.” He made a gesture around them. 

“I suppose if the world is ending you might as well,” she said. “If you have the money.”

“Oh, money is easy to get, darling,” he said, carving another bite of food. “And yes, I intend to enjoy my creature comforts. Do you like your room? And I must say the clothes I picked for you are quite becoming.”

She felt her cheeks flush. She’d managed to half-forget the clothes, particularly the bras that were specifically her size. “I… couldn’t help but notice the sizes were correct,” she said, eying him suspiciously. 

John smiled, putting a hand to his chest. “I promise you, I didn’t peek. I’m a gentleman. I had one of the ladies who work for me check your sizes when we tucked you into bed.”

Olivia thought about replying to his claim to be a gentleman, considering he’d sliced her shirt off with a knife, but she somehow believed him when he said he hadn’t peeked. “I… well. I’m not going to lie, it feels very weird to be cooked for and given… frankly very nice clothes by someone who kidnapped and forcibly tattooed me.”

“Like I said, I see no reason not to spend money on the finer things in life,” he chuckled. “So I’m glad you like them. As for the rest, you needed something to eat after everything you endured. Since we were already here, and I felt like cooking, I saw no reason not to feed you too.”

She raised an eyebrow slightly. “So, you tortured me, sent out for clothes for me, and cooked me dinner?” she asked. “I wonder about you, John.”

He smiled slightly, though there was a small edge of unhappiness in it. “A lot of people do,” he said, then brightened abruptly. “The clothes were no trouble. I can have nearly anything here in an hour or two. Would you like some earrings to go with that shirt? A basket of peaches? A dozen roses? A wolf cub? All I have to do is say the word and it’ll be at my doorstep.”

“How about a bottle of bourbon?” she asked drily, and paused as what he’d said caught up to her. “Did you say a wolf cub?”

John tisked. “Now, I know Joseph told you there’s no drinking here,” he said, as though he was scolding a child. “And yes, I said a wolf cub. I could get a bear or cougar cub if you’d rather. Local and free range.” He winked. 

She shook her head, glancing at the trophies looming over the next room. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He followed her gaze. “Ah, I take it you don’t approve of the taxidermy.”

Olivia shrugged, forcing herself to go back to her food. “I’m not much on bloodsport. Don’t get me wrong, I eat meat. I actually like venison, and rabbit. But trophy hunting, no I don’t approve.”

John smiled slightly. “Not afraid to speak your mind, are you? Can’t imagine Joseph liked that.”

Before she could stop herself, her hand went to her throat. The bruises had faded a lot, but they were still there. She forced her hand back down. “No, I don’t guess he did.”

His eyes flicked to her throat and he nodded slightly. He was quiet for a moment before looking away and putting on another smile. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know the trophies were at least in part gifts from followers who hunt for food,” he told her. “The predators we typically leave alone, except when they endanger our people or supplies. Seems a waste in that case not to use the remains.”

She thought there was more he wasn’t saying, particularly about Joseph. He’d seemed not the least surprised at the bruises on her neck. That coupled with the moment of fear she’d seen in him while he was speaking to Joseph on the radio began to paint an unhappy picture. Rather than approach the topic she nodded.

“I guess, if you put it that way,” she allowed. “I still prefer paintings.”

John chuckled. “Well, I’ll show you around a bit after dinner. I’m sure we’ll find something more to your taste.”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll stab you with my fork and set your house on fire and run?” she asked. So far she hadn’t seen anyone else, though she supposed his guards could be outside.

He raised his eyebrows in mock-concern. “Are you planning to?”

“Well… no,” she admitted. “But that’s not really the sort of thing you plan, is it? That’s more seizing an opportunity.”

“I suppose then, I’ll just have to take my chances with you. And you with me, hm?” His grin edged toward predatory, though his hooded eyes made her stomach flip. 

“I suppose so,” she said, and looked back at her plate, away from the heated gaze of those Carribean blue eyes.

Somehow, her situation had become even more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me being slow! My classes are busy and I've managed to be sick more than once this month already, but hopefully I'll be steadier at writing soon!


	12. In Starlit Nights I Saw You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John delights in showing off, giving Olivia a bit of insight into his personality. He's a puzzle, to be sure, but one full of promises...

It was dark outside by the time they finished dinner and John put all the dishes by the sink, to be washed by someone else she supposed. True to his word, he took her on a tour of his home. 

She thought it was a lot of room for just one person, though John was clearly quite proud of all of it. The kitchen she’d seen, and the living room, though he happily pointed out his full stock of kitchen equipment and that the couches were all leather. She found his office much more interesting. 

His desk was huge and imposing like Joseph’s, but sleeker and more modern in design, as well as made of darker wood. Gold and enamel fountain pens rested neatly in elegant metal holders, and his desk chair looked like a red leather throne. The shelves were lined with thick volumes that she realized were law books. 

She looked at him, curiously. “You’re a lawyer?”

He grinned. “Top of my class, too,” he said. He ran a hand along the book spines. There didn’t seem to be a mote of dust on any of them. “In Atlanta, before you ask.”

“You’re from Georgia?” Olivia asked, interested despite herself. “You haven’t got a trace of accent.”

John shrugged slightly, though his smile faded. “Lost it over time, I guess. Academia does that, you know. A lawyer with a drawl is cute in movies, but tends to be viewed less favorably in higher society.”

She glanced at his tattooed forearms and hands. “What about the ink?”

He chuckled. “Ah, most of what’s visible was after I joined Joseph. I don’t do courtrooms anyway, I’m in corporate and property, so it doesn’t matter as much. And, well, there is something to be said for unbalancing your opponent by presenting an image they don’t expect.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re doing to me now? Putting me off balance by being sweet?”

John grinned wolfishly. “Am I?” he asked, teasingly. “Being sweet, I mean.”

Olivia couldn’t keep herself from smiling slightly. “Well, you’re certainly not much like my first impression of you.”

“I could say the same. It’s almost as if first impressions are usually deceptive,” he replied. 

He was having entirely too much fun being clever. She crossed her arms. “You know, there are a lot of jokes I could be making right now,” she said, glancing at the bookshelf.

John chuckled. “Yes, I know. I’m sure I’ve heard them all. I think lawyer jokes may have been invented by lawyers, to be honest. When you’re studying for the bar you tend to develop a certain gallows humor.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” she said.

John smiled slightly, inclining his head. “Well, shall we?”

Only one door was locked in the whole of the huge house, it seemed. A plain one, out of the way on the first floor. John nodded to it on the way by, after showing off the ground floor bathroom he’d had done in imported marble. 

“That one’s private,” he told her. “The confessional.”

Olivia blinked. “That’s where I was? In your house the whole time?”

John nodded. “Well, under if you want to be technical, that leads to the basement. I had orders for you to be brought here if we found you, instead of one of the outposts. Quite a number of the flock would give a lot to have their confession heard in my home.”

She bit her lip, not sure how to respond. The sumptuous house she was enjoying seemed far removed from where she’d been. Not to mention it was more than slightly concerning that John had a torture chamber in his home. Finally, she found her voice. “Why not one of the outposts? Or right back to Joseph?”

“I was curious,” he said. “Getting Joseph into the kind of tizzy he was in--well, there’s not much that can do that. I just  _ had _ to see what had him so worked up.”

“And?” she asked. Despite herself, she wanted to know if she met expectations. 

He gave her another of his charming but all too toothy grins. “I can imagine how you could drive most men to distraction, but Joseph isn’t most men.”

She felt a little heat rise in her cheeks. “If it’s any consolation, I’m at a loss myself.”

John chuckled. “Well, I’ll figure it out eventually. But in the meantime, shall we continue?”

There was nothing for it but to follow him as he continued his tour, finishing out the ground floor and leading her out to the generous front porch.

It was dark out, so it was hard to see much in detail, but he assured her they weren’t far from a river. Outside, she finally saw some of his men, prowling the property with guns, stationed at intervals around the house and the huge building beside it. She squinted at it, trying to make out what it was. It looked like nothing so much as a garage, though the door was enormous. What she’d at first taken for a road led up to the building, and stretched on for some time before vanishing behind a stand of trees. 

John followed her gaze. “Ah, that’s my hangar,” he said casually, as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing to have. “Do you like flying?”

Olivia shrugged, giving him a little smile. “I’ve only ever been on commercial flights. No leg room, stale peanuts, that sort of thing. I’m guessing that’s not what you mean, though.”

He chuckled. “Not even close. I have an AdjudiCor FBW--” he paused as he observed her blank look. “It’s a military style propeller plane. Two seater. I can take you up if you want. Being in the air is like nothing else. Especially in your own plane. The valley is just gorgeous from that high up and you can see for miles in every direction.”

His smile was really rather nice when it was sincere. There was a buoyant note in his voice as well, one she hadn’t heard before. He was proud of his accomplishments and his home, but the plane, flying--those things he loved. There was also a little hopefulness in his expression, like when he’d cooked for her. 

“Well, I suppose I’d be a poor guest if I didn’t accept your hospitality,” she said, unable to stop herself from smiling. His excitement was almost childlike in a way. From what Joseph had told her about their father, she doubted he’d had the opportunity to actually be a child when he was one.

He gave her a bright smile. “We’ll go up tomorrow,” he promised. “It’s nice at night, too, but it’s hard to see the valley in the dark. You should see it during the day first so you have a reference.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said, voice betraying her enthusiasm. Embarrassed, she averted her gaze, staring back out at the hangar and runway. It was hard to reconcile John the torturer with John the honestly rather endearing cook and pilot.

“That’s good to hear,” he said. She felt him move closer, a slight warmth beside her. “Some rest and breakfast tomorrow and you should feel a bit more recovered from your confession as well. As long as you take care of your marks.” John took her wrist and pulled down her sleeve to examine the flower cross on her forearm. She didn’t pull away. 

The edges of the tattoo were still puffy and pink with irritation, but seemed better. The ink stood out starkly on her pale forearm, slick with ointment. John feathered a fingertip along her skin. “It looks splendid on you,” he said.

She looked up, not quite sure how to respond. She hadn’t asked for the tattoo, so it felt odd to be complimented on it. Particularly by the man who’d forced it onto her. Still, she felt she should say something. 

“You do good work. I have to admit that,” she said. 

He smiled, loosening his grip, though his hand lingered on her arm a bit longer than necessary. “I enjoy the art,” he said. “Most of the ones I do these days are from confessions. Branding our followers with their sins, that sort of thing. I’ve done some for Joseph, though. And Jacob and Faith. It’s nice to do something a bit more creative from time to time.”

Olivia regarded him for a long moment. The man was a puzzle, that much was certain. She wondered which face he’d shown so far was really him. The sadist, the cocky lawyer, the enthusiastic flyboy, or the artist. Maybe all of them in some way, though she wasn’t sure how they all could fit together. 

She smiled a little, leaning on the railing and turning her gaze up to the sky. This far out there wasn’t as much in the way of artificial light, and the stars shone in the darkness above far more numerous than she’d been used to in the city. “I suppose you could do worse for inspiring surroundings,” she said. 

He chuckled softly and joined her, handsome face turned upward. “It’s a beautiful place,” he said. “A lot of the valley is unspoiled. Plenty of forest, little lakes in the mountains.” He looked back at her. “Is that why you came here?”

Olivia frowned, mulling over how to answer him. “Sort of,” she said finally. “I wanted to be far away from where I was. And I suppose Hope County sounded appealing.”

“It’s a good name,” he murmured. “That’s part of the reason Joseph chose it.”

She gave a soft, humorless chuckle. “His sermons seem a little short on that quality.”

“Well, there are more immediate concerns. Hope is for what comes after the Collapse,” he said. 

She looked up at him, hesitating a moment. Wondering if she dared ask the question hovering on the edge of her mind. She took a breath. “Do you believe him?” she asked softly. 

He turned his blue eyes on her, his expression serious, but not angry. Honest. Open. “I do,” he said. “I think part of you does as well. You know the world is on the brink of something. Anyone with half a mind does.”

“What if he’s wrong?” she asked. 

“What if he’s right?” John countered. He smiled slightly, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering in the red waves. “Think on it, at least, hmm? My doubting Thomas,” he said, his voice almost teasing.

Before she could reply, his eyes narrowed, flicking toward the front of the house. One of the patrols had wandered close, enough to be in the lighted part of the yard. A couple of the men glanced their way, probably curious. 

“Let’s go in before the mosquitoes catch us,” John said, his hand dropping away from her hair abruptly as he straightened.

Olivia nodded. She wondered about his reaction. Was he concerned about his men seeing him showing favoritism, or was it something else that made him pull away? She had a feeling Joseph might not approve of his brother getting too close to a sinner like herself. Or to the woman he was somehow convinced was important to him. If her confession and atonement were considered finished, he would probably want her back. She doubted John would want to give up his new toy so quickly. 

She followed him back inside, away from prying eyes, and his mood immediately improved. 

“Now, where were we?” he asked rhetorically, herding her toward an overstuffed couch. He inclined his head and offered her a seat with a gesture.

She sat down, fairly certain he was going to invade her personal space when he did. She wasn’t wrong; he slid onto the couch beside her, lounging like a large cat, arm thrown casually across the backrest as though he didn’t know he was halfway to crawling onto her. 

“Armageddon,” she told him. She didn’t back away from him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

He chuckled. “Well, Joseph uses the term Collapse, but I suppose that’s close enough. It’s hard to wrap your mind around, I know.”

She shrugged. “Not really. Some form of it is in every mythology. Call it whatever you want, the apocalypse, doomsday, Ragnarok, the awakening of the Great Old Ones, Judgment Day. Everyone’s predicted it. I guarantee there’s someone on a streetcorner right this minute with a sign that says ‘the end is nigh’. That doesn’t make it true.”

“Well, I sense you’re a bit of a skeptic,” he said drily. 

“A bit,” she agreed, unable to keep herself from smiling slightly. 

“That’s all right I suppose. I’ll just have to see if I can’t convince you. I’m a lawyer. I’m very good at that sort of thing,” he teased. 

“Clearly you were a successful one,” she allowed. “I’ve never met anyone with their own hangar and plane. Or an imported marble bathroom.”

John smiled slyly. “You should see my private bathroom. I have a jacuzzi.”

Olivia laughed, shaking her head and choosing not to take his bait. “Well, of course you do. That’s the least surprising thing you’ve said all day.”

“I enjoy my luxuries,” he replied with a grin. 

“I noticed.” 

“Well, feel free to enjoy my home and luxuries, hmm? And I’ll take you flying tomorrow, you’ll love it I’m sure.” He seemed more than a little pleased with the idea.

Olivia nodded, smiling. “Or it’ll be terrifying. I don’t have a real basis to compare.”

John chuckled. “Either way it’ll be a new experience to say yes to,” he said. 

“I suppose it will be,” she replied. She was curious about his near-obsession with the word, but didn’t ask. 

He leaned closer and took her hand, his thumb stroking over her knuckles. “I’m looking forward to it. And I know you won’t regret it. Even if it’s terrifying, though I think you enjoy a little fear now and again.” His voice was a purr that sent a little shock down her spine. 

She bit her lip, swallowing against the sudden dryness in her throat. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, John Seed,” she said, though her voice was soft.

John smiled. “We’ll see, my Doubting Thomas,” he replied. “Oh, we shall see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Sorry this took forever, Corona, school, and work have all been making life a bit more hectic than usual. I work in a hospital so haven't been sent to work from home, sadly.
> 
> Wash your hands! Practice social distancing! Stay healthy!


	13. Boys Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia spends the day with John.
> 
> What could happen, right?

John, it seemed, enjoyed hearing her scream in any context.

Every time she thought she was ready for his next loop, barrel roll, or dive, he introduced her to some new and different aerial maneuver that made her fear for her life. Every time she shrieked his voice came over her headset, chuckling in amusement. 

Olivia had been certain they were about to crash half a dozen times during the flight, swinging dangerously close to his YES sign, and to the giant statue of Joseph. She knew cognitively they probably weren’t nearly as close as they seemed, and that John was a practiced pilot who knew the valley well, but that didn’t convince her emotionally. 

She supposed as well that her delighted giggling every time he managed to scare her was only serving to encourage him. 

Really, she had to admit that she was enjoying her visit, or whatever one might call it, with John. Much as she wanted to resist the whole bizarre religious angle, the ‘confession’ had been cathartic. The knot she’d grown so used to sitting in her chest had loosened, as though admitting those things to John had relieved her of some of it. He hadn’t mentioned a word about it so far. She suspected he was waiting for her to approach the subject. 

After a thorough tour of the valley, John flew them in a lazy spiral over his house, giving her a wide view of the surroundings. Rivers and lakes sparkled in the midmorning sun, and the forest was thick and green.

“You were right,” she said, hearing the crackle of her helmet microphone. “It’s really beautiful from up here.”

“It is,” he agreed. “From the air it kinda looks like paradise.” 

Landing, like the entirety of the flight, was smooth and sure, if a bit showy. She was almost sorry to be back on the ground. It was easy to see what it was that appealed to him in taking to the air. All the flaws were smoothed away from so far up, and there was nothing but the sky and the quilt of almost-unspoiled beauty. It was easy to feel that the problems and worries of the mundane world were far away. 

She sat still as the engine slowed into silence. In a moment John had the hatch open, helping her to untangle her helmet and seatbelt and climb out. 

“So, you seem to have enjoyed that,” he observed. He hopped off the wing of the plane and reached up for her. 

It was, she imagined, at least partly to put his hands on her. Even so, thus far he’d been a gentleman--discounting the torture. He hadn’t even hinted at trying to take her to his bedroom when they’d turned in, and despite his suggestive body language he hadn’t tried to touch her in any way that was uninvited. She put her hands on his shoulders and let him lift her down. Neither of them let go immediately. 

“I did,” she said. “Thank you for taking me up.”

John grinned, the open smile that touched his eyes. His hands didn’t wander, but rested on her waist with a little tension, as though he wanted to pull her closer. “We’ll have to do it again sometime. Maybe at night next time. The sky is beautiful, and the valley’s all lit up. It’s something to see.”

“That sounds nice,” she said.

“For now, though, let’s go in and have a coffee, hm?”

“French press?” she asked.

“Is there any other kind?” John laughed, releasing her and leading the way back to the house. 

Back in the kitchen she settled on one of the stools and watched him grind the coffee and set up the press. She propped her chin in her hand and smiled a bit. 

“So you’re a religious leader, lawyer, pilot, and barista. Am I forgetting anything?” she asked, teasingly. 

John chuckled as he poured steaming water over the grounds and turned to get mugs. “Well, I also serve as the real estate developer for Eden’s Gate, but I suppose we could wrap that up with the lawyer part.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re an overachiever?”

Olivia realized she’d said something wrong. He paused, the mugs halfway to the counter, his expression tightening. He set the cups down deliberately, and when he looked back up at her his expression was a carefully composed neutral mask. “Actually the opposite for the most part,” he said, his voice level. “My parents had… high expectations.”

She frowned slightly. It hadn’t occurred to her that her question might stray into his past so unpleasantly. “I-I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Joseph told me a little about your father--”

John shook his head with a little smile that had no humor in it. “Oh, no. Old man Seed’s expectations were limited to our being quiet and obedient. I was quite young when we were taken from there.” He made a dismissive gesture. “There was a foster home for a while, before we were separated because Jacob burned the house down.”

Olivia swallowed, barely daring to move. His demeanor had changed, suddenly and completely, and she cursed herself for teasing him. John the flirtatious charmer was gone, sublimated somewhere underneath John the unpredictable predator.

He caught her look and shrugged with a cold smile. “Trust me, it was warranted.” He chuckled softly, pressing down the plunger of the french press slowly as he spoke. “No, it was my adoptive parents. Y’see, I was John Duncan for a good bit of my life. Before Joseph managed to track me down.” He paused, pouring the coffee and sliding a mug toward her. “Cream?” he asked.

His voice was calm, pleasant even, but there was a darkness in his eyes. It was a look that reminded her very strongly of his expression when he’d held a knife to her throat in the confessional. The darkness wasn’t directed at  _ her _ , but it frightened her all the same. “No, thank you,” she said softly. 

John nodded, pouring his own cup. “They were religious. More than most people. And wealthy, also more than most people. They wanted an heir--I won’t bore you with the financial reasons wealthy people have children, suffice to say in those circles it often has little to do with unconditional love and more to do with tax shelters and estates. I was young, reasonably clever, good looking, healthy, available.” He shrugged, taking a sip from his coffee. 

Olivia nodded to let him know she was listening, but it didn’t seem prudent for the moment to interrupt. There were clearly strong emotions attached to the story he was telling, and she didn’t want him to shut down. Or lose his temper. 

“There  _ was _ the small matter of my being… tainted. They were of the school of thought that children are inherently willful and selfish. Full of sin. And coming from my rather checkered family background, how could I not be worse than most? And so they employed the rod of discipline… liberally. Whether I’d done something or not. After all, I was probably going to.” 

His expression and tone didn’t change, and it made her stomach churn. He sounded like he was discussing his academic history; just a mildly interesting bit of background.

“Of course, they also expected me to excel. In school, socially, everything else. Anything short of perfection was unacceptable. I was top of my class, track team, debate team… then law school of course.” He paused, finally, toying with his mug. “Nothing was ever quite good enough, but every inch closer to perfection made things… easier.”

Olivia was quiet for a long moment. Some of what he told her she could relate to, and it made it so much easier to figure him out. She doubted very seriously he’d had so much of a session of therapy, and it ached in her chest just thinking about what he told her. She took a deep breath and reached across the counter, putting her hand on his.

“I’m sorry, John,” she said softly. 

He went still as she touched him, staring at her hand a moment before he gave her an empty smile. “Well, as Joseph says, it’s all part of God’s plan. I wouldn’t be the man I am now if it were different, after all. And Joseph needs me.” He said the last as though he were trying to reassure himself. 

“But--” she began.

He covered her hand with his, still warm from the mug. “It taught me the power of Yes,” he said. “There was a night when… I don’t even remember what I’d done. Or what they thought I’d done. I… experienced pain like I never had before. Again and again and again.” 

His hands were tight on hers, squeezing almost painfully, but she didn’t pull away. She let him hold on to her like a lifeline.

“I thought--there was a moment when I thought I couldn’t take more. And that’s when I did.” He let his eyes meet hers at last, intense, pleading with her to understand. “Something happened, you see. Something… broke in me. I was clear. Everything was clear. The fear was gone. The pain didn’t matter anymore. And all I could say was… yes.” He smiled softly, lifting his hand to her cheek. “It was a gift in the end.”

Olivia took a deep breath, shaking her head a little. “All the same, John. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

He froze, his eyes widening as though her words startled him. As though… no one had ever told him that before. He searched her face, looking uncertain before his expression softened, his brow knitting. “I--thank you,” he said softly. “Thank you. For saying that.” He looked down, taking both her hands in his. “You didn’t deserve it either.”

“Thank you,” she said. He’d seen the scars, she’d known that already. Not so many, really, but unmistakable all the same. Especially if you had similar ones. 

He stroked his thumbs over her knuckles, silent. It was hard to know what to say after all of that. It was intimate, even more than the moment she’d broken. This was shared, both of them letting the other see something they ordinarily kept hidden. 

John was broken. She’d caught hints of it before, in the way he changed from mood to mood and slid from dangerously unstable to charming to almost childlike. It was likely he hadn’t told her a quarter of what he’d been through. That sort of thing was always too much to tell all at once. It had to be trickled out a little at a time or it would overwhelm both of them. Even with so little, though, she could see that he was hurting. Unfortunately that made him dangerously unstable. She had little doubt his predatory, sadistic side could resurface, and there were no guarantees she wouldn’t get caught up in one of his darker moods.

The realization also made her angry at Joseph.

There was little doubt that Joseph knew the sorts of things John had been subjected to. And that made the moment of fear she’d seen in John when talking to Joseph all the more infuriating. She’d assumed Joseph’s sudden, terrible violence was the cause of John’s wariness, but knowing his past… 

Joseph probably never had to touch John. Just the fear of violence, even the fear of displeasure or losing his brother’s love would probably drive John to do anything Joseph wanted. 

It was John who finally broke the silence, giving a soft chuckle and looking up at her with a crooked smile. “My goodness, are we bonding?”

She managed a smile. “I thought that was the point of the plane ride,” she said. 

“Well, that mostly was to give you an adrenaline rush and an endorphin swell.” He was back to being all charm, as if the previous conversation was forgotten. 

It seemed for the best to let him exit the emotional discussion gracefully, and to be honest she was relieved. It had been tugging at old wounds for both of them. “So that I’d like you more?” she teased. 

John straightened, keeping one of her hands in his and kissing her knuckles. “Mm, well, you can’t blame me for using every means at my disposal.”

Olivia sighed, smiling and shaking her head. “You’re very charming. And also, because I know you probably like to hear it, yes, you’re a wonderful pilot and very handsome.” Perhaps it was a step too far, but her emotions were still raw, and it was hard to keep herself from saying what came to mind.

His grin turned wicked, and he raised her hand to his lips again. “You’re right. I do like hearing that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Anything to say to me in return?”

“You have excellent taste,” he replied, the very picture of sincerity. 

Olivia couldn’t help herself and burst out laughing. “God, you’re  _ terrible _ !” she giggled.

“I thought I was charming and handsome,” he teased.

“Both things can be true,” she replied, smirking. He still had her hand in his.

“Well, you’re stubborn and lovely, if we’re describing one another.” He propped an elbow on the counter, leaning toward her. 

They were both emotionally raw from their earlier conversation. Both feeling vulnerable, both drawing together out of shared trauma. John was a mess. A broken, potentially dangerous one at that. Every logical assessment in her mind said that she should pull back before she did something she would regret. The absolute dead last thing she ought to do was kiss him.

His lips were warm and soft, and his tongue tasted of coffee. 

It wasn’t like kissing Joseph. There was no hesitation in John. His mouth was hungry, aggressive, reciprocating immediately. He tangled his fingers in her hair, and had it not been for the countertop between them, he probably would already have been pressed hard against her. 

He pulled back only after long moments, his pupils blown wide with desire. He grinned wolfishly. “That was nice,” he said.

She knew she was flushed, her cheeks hot, her lips swollen. “I--yeah. That was… good.”

He smiled, a little softness creeping into his eyes for just a moment. “It’s been a little while,” he admitted.

“Me too,” she said.

“I may be out of practice…” his lips played lightly over her cheek.

“I probably am too,” she said, her voice breathy. 

“Well then,” he said, peppering little kisses along her jaw. “Let’s see if we can’t work some kinks out.”

Olivia gave a soft little moan, and prepared to make some bad life choices. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, thanks for being patient. The whole virus thing, school, work, and life stuff have had me creatively blocked and too busy to write, but I'm back at it! Thanks for reading!


	14. I Look To You To See The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia makes questionable life choices.
> 
> She and John have a serious conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, Official Smut Warning.
> 
> You have been warned: Explicit content ahead :)

They’d managed to get halfway up the stairs, a tangle of searching hands and loosened clothes, before Olivia pulled back, panting softly, looking up at John. His pupils were wide with desire, his shirt open, his usually neat hair mussed and falling across his forehead. 

“I--should we?” she ventured, even as her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. “Won’t Joseph be upset?”

John paused, a worried frown flickering over his features before he put on a devil-may-care grin. “Well, I know  _ I’m _ not planning on telling him,” he drawled, one hand sliding over her hip.

She gave a giddy little laugh, tipping her face up and brushing her lips over his teasingly. “Isn’t this a sin?” 

He growled softly, his hips bucking against her. She could feel him through his jeans, already hard. “We’re all sinners, darling.” He caught her wrists, pinning her arms to the wall above her head as he leaned down. His Carribian blue eyes were hooded and hungry, his kiss full of teeth and tongue. He nipped her lower lip sharply. “Sin in haste, repent at leisure. We can atone later.” He gave her a wolfish grin. 

Olivia bit her lip. “You gonna give me another tattoo?” 

His smile softened a little, and he glanced at the still-healing marks on her arm and collarbone. “Maybe,” he said. “After all, you are a lovely canvas.” He kept the grip on her wrists, bringing her hands down and kissing her palms. “For now, though… I think a little light bruising will suffice.” He winked, and pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs. 

John’s room was as sumptuous as she had imagined. French doors opened to a wide balcony that overlooked the front of the property. Every bit of his furniture matched, imposing and elegant in darkly stained wood and antiqued silver. The room was enormous, of course, dominated by a huge bed done up in shades of dark blue, and there was even a fireplace. It was too warm for a fire, but she couldn’t help giggling softly at the bearskin rug laid out in front of it.

John caught her around the waist and raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm?”

She shook her head. “Just your playboy mansion bearskin rug and fireplace. Do you lounge around naked over there?” she teased.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he purred. 

Before she could respond, he’d grabbed her again, kissing her neck as he guided her backward to the bed and lifted her onto it. 

The soft jangling of her necklace made her pause, and she gripped the rings briefly. John’s gaze flicked to her motion and he hesitated. Olivia gave him a small smile, unclasping the chain and laying the rings carefully on the nightstand beside her. 

They each had a past. Neither of them would ever fully leave it behind, but that wasn’t important just then. For the time being, all she wanted to think about was there, and now, and him. It was probably unwise, and almost certainly there would be consequences, but she took his hands and drew him to her. 

She fell back among feather pillows and soft sheets, and watched him as he climbed over her like a hunting cat, a shock of dark hair hanging over his forehead, his eyes hungry. She reached up, cupping his cheek, feeling the prickle of his beard under her palm.

“You are just unfairly handsome,” she told him.

He chuckled, leaning into her touch. “I don’t know about ‘unfairly’, but I do appreciate the sentiment, particularly from a beauty like you.” He smiled a bit, eyes narrowed as he brought a hand up to slowly unbutton the top of her blouse. “I’m not sure you appreciate what you’re doing to me right now.”

She smiled wickedly, and bucked her hips under him, grinding against his crotch and feeling the hardness there. His breath hitched and he groaned. “I think I’m getting an idea.”

John chuckled, pressing against her. “I suppose I should find a way to make things even.”

It wasn’t surprising that he was quite adept at undoing clothing. Long moments spent kissing and caressing had her half-undressed before she realized it. At some point he’d shed his vest and one of them had his shirt undone. John grinned as he pulled her to sit up, deftly pulling her shirt off with one hand as the other unhooked her bra.

“You’re awfully good at that,” she giggled breathlessly as he let her fall back into the bed. 

“Like riding a bike, I guess,” he chuckled. He watched her face as he ran his hands up her chest, cupping her breasts gently and feathering his thumbs over her nipples before pulling the bra away, tossing it aside. 

Olivia arched and gasped at his touch, feeling her body respond eagerly, her hips bucking against him again. 

John smiled, tracing a fingertip down her chest. “Well, aren’t you sensitive?”

She watched him with hooded eyes. “I told you it’s been a while.”

“Mm, you did,” he agreed, tracing a long, lazy line down her abdomen. “I have to imagine that’s left you more than a little eager.” He toyed with the button on her pants, his expression sly. 

Olivia realized what he was likely thinking, and tensed. “Don’t you dare,” she warned.

John grinned. Before she could do anything about it, he had her by the wrists, pinning her with one hand while the other slid his belt off. “Oh, my darling. You can’t have forgotten already,” he purred, leaning down to kiss her again, nipping at her lower lip. “You know what I want to hear.” He winked, winding the supple leather around her wrists, buckling the belt to the headboard. It wasn’t terribly tight, and she could probably get free with a little wriggling. 

If she wanted to.

Olivia knew what he wanted her to say. His near-obsession with the word made it easy to guess. However, she also knew the game for what it was. She could give in immediately, of course, but neither of them really wanted that. 

He sat back on his knees over her, undoing her pants and slowly dragging the zipper downward. “What do we say?” he said in a light sing-song. 

She grinned at him, eyes narrowed in challenge. “Do your worst.”

His smile was absolutely wicked as he gazed down at her. “Well, you asked for it.”

He peeled her pants off slowly, and she betrayed her eagerness by lifting her hips to help him wriggle them down. He tossed the garment away, his shirt and pants joining them in some corner of the room behind him. His arousal was clearly visible in his boxers, but he seemed in no hurry at all. He leaned down, pressing against her and kissing her throat, slowly trailing little nuzzles, nips, and suckles down her chest. His beard scratched at her skin as he moved, and he occasionally flicked his blue gaze up to watch her face. 

She moaned as he ran his tongue over her nipple. John paused, smirking. “Something to say?”

Olivia took a couple gulps of air and steeled herself. “Nope.”

“Wrong answer,” he purred. He lowered his head, catching the hardened bud of her nipple between his teeth and biting down. He didn’t bite hard, but it was enough to send a shock of pain and pleasure through her, making her gasp. He chuckled, moving to repeat the process on her other breast. 

Her pulse quickened and her breathing got more ragged as he made his way down her belly, teasing with his lips and teeth. She strained against the belt holding her, wanting to push his head down. She had thought perhaps he would be as impatient as she was, and that his resolve would break before hers. Clearly, that was a miscalculation. She felt his breath puff hotly through the fabric of her panties and she whimpered, tipping up her hips, trying to urge him on. He merely chuckled and slid lower, kissing and teasing her inner thighs, beginning an agonizingly slow ascent. She tried to wrap her legs around him, but his hands caught them, pressing her against the bed. 

“John, please,” she moaned

“You know what I want to hear,” he admonished teasingly, and trailed his tongue hotly up the inside of her thigh. 

Olivia drew in a ragged gasp. “Oh, God--”

In answer he merely chuckled, biting down on the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, hard enough that it was sure to leave a mark. “Well, that’s closer,” he said. She could feel the vibration of his voice against her skin. 

“You’re enjoying this,” she panted. 

John looked up, smirking. “Oh, I’m enjoying this very much.” He laid a kiss over the bite. “And so are you.” He reached up, fingertips catching the band of her panties, tugging gently. She didn’t answer his comment, but lifted up to help him slide them over her hips. He slipped them down her legs and off, tossing them away. He sat up for a moment, gazing down at her, his eyes warm.

“Now this… this is a pretty picture,” he purred. He traced a fingertip down her chest and down to her mound, the barely-there touch maddening. “You are magnificent.”

She felt her cheeks redden. “You know how to talk to a girl, I’ll give you that.”

When he grinned, she knew she was in trouble. “I’ve been told I have a silver tongue,” he said. It was all the warning she had before he lowered his head between her thighs. 

The first lap of his hot, soft tongue almost bowed her in half. John took hold of her hips, steadying her and preventing her from squirming. His tongue was relentless, teasing her folds and swirling over her clit, the pressure and touch never staying steady. 

She whimpered, straining, tipping up her hips to try to urge him on, but he seemed intent on torturing her by keeping her in a state of arousal he refused to let peak. She had no idea how long it went on. He seemed tireless, his tongue and fingers busy, but always moving away as soon as she felt herself building to climax. She panted, moaned, whined, and whimpered his name, and he only chuckled and teased her more. 

Olivia had wanted to win this game, but it seemed, just like with her confession, he would break her in the end. She sucked in a ragged breath, clawing at the belt around her wrists, so frustrated she was near tears. “Yes! You win! Yes, I’m saying yes!”

Immediately his pace changed. After the slow teasing, the sudden, rapid lap of his tongue on her clit was almost too much. He suckled her skin, tongue flicking mercilessly as he slid his fingers inside her. She barely had time to gasp for air before she was screaming, spilling over the edge so hard and fast the pleasure was almost painful.

He rode her through her orgasm, his tongue slowing, becoming more gentle. Even that touch made her whole body respond, the aftershocks enough to arch her off the bed. She lay panting as he pulled himself up, grinning, and untangled the belt from her wrists. 

“Back with me?” he said, kissing her. 

She kissed him back, tasting her own salty-sweetness on his lips. Lazily she draped her arms around his shoulders. “That was intense.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead against hers. “I told you that you wouldn’t regret saying yes to me,” he said softly. 

Olivia wrapped her arms tightly around him as he positioned himself over her. At some point he’d finished undressing, she supposed she’d been too busy seeing stars to notice. 

He kissed her again as he pushed into her, rocking his hips gently until he was fully sheathed in her. He paused, nuzzling into her neck. “You feel like heaven,” he breathed.

There was something in his voice that felt raw, full of a need more intense and pure than simple lust. She wondered, suddenly, when the last time he’d had anyone touch him with affection had been. She combed her fingers through his hair, just holding him for a long moment, and he buried his head in her shoulder.

When he started to move it was much more gentle than she would have expected before then. He rocked his hips in long, slow strokes, and raised his head to look her in the eyes.

Olivia stroked his cheek and wrapped her arms around his neck. She tightened her thighs on his hips, moving with him. She held his gaze as he searched her face.

It was nothing like what she’d expected. When they’d kissed, she’d imagined a passionate, unrestrained tumble. She’d expected teeth and tongue and a sweaty tangle, groping and biting and bruising grips. 

She had little doubt they would come to that occasionally, if they continued to see one another, or have trysts, or whatever it was they were doing. 

Instead, he was slow and gentle, as though savoring every sensation. He watched her face, and held her eyes, he leaned into every touch and caress as though he were starved for them. He seemed almost to fight his own climax, trying to savor their lovemaking as long as possible, but inevitably his thrusts became faster and his breathing erratic. She held him tightly as he buried himself in her and moaned in pleasure, and when his head drooped to rest on her shoulder, she nuzzled him, stroking his hair. 

He lay panting against her for long moments, wrapping his arms around her and relaxing slowly into her embrace. When he finally looked up again, he gave her a soft, warm little smile and brushed her hair back tenderly. 

“That was…” he hesitated, his voice soft, almost uncertain. “That was good.”

Olivia smiled, catching his hand in hers and squeezing softly. “Yeah. It was.” She leaned up and kissed him. 

They kissed each other languidly for a while, neither saying a word, but neither of them needed to. She stroked his hair and nuzzled him as his eyes blinked slowly shut, and the sound of his gentle breathing lulled her to sleep beside him. 

She woke up tangled in soft sheets, her body aching deliciously here and there. Her pillow smelled faintly of John’s expensive cologne, and she could feel the warmth of him beside her. She luxuriated for long moments, eyes closed, before finally rolling over. John was asleep still, his back to her.

The sight made her breath catch.

She’d guessed, by the way he’d reacted to her scars, that he had similar ones. It wasn’t their presence that surprised her, but she hadn’t been prepared for how numerous and how pronounced they were. Hers were light, only a few here and there, easy to miss if you didn’t know what you were looking at. There was no mistaking John’s scars for anything other than what they were. They striped his back, some horizontal, others vertical. Crossing over here and there, all of them silent testament to the cruelties he’d endured. Was it any wonder he was so very damaged?

His slow, steady breathing paused as she touched him, her fingertips lightly stroking along the line of a scar across his shoulderblade. He didn’t flinch, though she saw the tension in him at the contact. She didn’t pull away, instead caressing him until his shoulders relaxed. She traced over each scar as though she could soothe them away, and slowly the rest of the tension melted. He sighed finally, shifting onto his back and catching her hand in his. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment.

“I don’t regret it,” he said quietly. “It was… hard, yes. Painful. But it taught me a lot.” He pressed her hand to his chest and looked over at her. “That’s… what I hope to show those who confess, you see? To face the pain, and the hardship, and the fear, and come out the other side renewed. Unburdened.”

Olivia squeezed his hand gently. There was a note of pleading in his voice. Almost as though he were trying to convince himself even more than her that what he’d gone through was meaningful. “I understand,” she said. “Even so, John, I’m so sorry. They shouldn’t have treated you that way. It was wrong.”

He brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles. “You’re right,” he said. “It was. They were cruel people. But it taught me of the world’s cruelty at an early age. It hardened me and prepared me for the future. I learned how to be convincing. How to lie flawlessly. I was made to confess my sins. I learned quickly it was best to have something to say, even if it was a lie. I learned how to tell people what they want to hear.” He shrugged. “A good skill for a lawyer. And, well, that in turn made it easy to get people to tell me things. Secrets. Large and small, embarrassing to life-shattering. The world is a hideous place filled with terrible people.”

Olivia swallowed, squeezing his hand. 

“That’s why I think there was a purpose to my hardships. If I hadn’t been tempered with fire, what I found in the world would have destroyed me. Even so, it very nearly did.” He smiled mirthlessly. “And, well, my parents also left me wealthy enough that I could help Joseph in his work.”

“They’re gone, then?” she ventured.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “They died in an accident.” There wasn’t a flicker from him, his voice steady and casual, his eyes never leaving hers. She knew without a doubt that he’d killed them. 

“Good,” she said. Part of her thought she ought to feel worse about being pleased, but she couldn’t help herself. They’d deserved it.

“Are your parents still alive?” he asked. He was back to staring at the ceiling, and there was a small, hard note in his voice. 

“I guess,” she said, shrugging. “Not sure I’d hear one way or the other to be honest. They didn’t care for John. The feeling was mutual. He finally had enough of being diplomatic and blew up at them for the way they talked to me. It got ugly. We left and that was that.”

John nodded, giving her a small smile. “For the best, I’d say,” he murmured. He shifted, pulling her into his arms, his skin warm on hers. “I know you’re a skeptic, but can you really say there’s not even the possibility of something more than coincidence at work with all of this?” he asked, nuzzling her hair. “Everything has fallen into place. Joseph, Hope County, you and I. All of these threads leading here and now.”

She sighed, resting her head against his chest. He wanted it all to mean something, and if she were honest, she did as well. It would be comforting, thinking there was a design at work, and not just chance. It would be nice to believe that everything they’d gone through was for a higher purpose.

“Maybe,” she said. It was as far as she could go just then. 

John kissed her hair. “Well, there’s a start,” he said, chuckling.

The phone on his bedside table rang, and he groaned, annoyed. Olivia almost smiled at the anachronism. She’d discovered early on that cell phones were almost useless in Hope County. She wondered now if it was Eden’s Gate’s influence that kept them from having cell towers in the valley. 

She let John untangle himself from her, and she lay back, watching him as he picked up the phone, clearly irritated at the interruption.

“Hello?” he said sharply. Then he sat up, stiff, straight, tense, his eyes widening with fear.

“Hello, Joseph,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience with me! I hope to write more chapters a bit more rapidly.


	15. It Makes Me Sad To Think This Could All Be For Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John fields a phone call from Joseph, and he and Olivia discuss the outcome, along with other issues.

Olivia froze, barely daring to breathe as John greeted Joseph. Irrationally, she felt certain that he knew, somehow, what was going on. John darted a glance at her, listening to his brother for a moment. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the murmur of his voice on the phone. 

John recovered quickly from his surprise, though the tension never left his shoulders. “Yes, yes, she’s fine, Joseph. I did promise didn’t I?” he said. 

She supposed it stood to reason he was checking up, considering she’d been in John’s possession for several days already. After all, she had a feeling that he wasn’t normally as gentle as he’d been with her. 

John gave a chuckle that didn’t sound at all forced. “Well, no, not yet. You  _ did _ ask me to be careful, after all. And I don’t imagine I have to tell you how stubborn she is.”

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him, receiving a little smirk in return. If the circumstances hadn’t been as serious as they were, she might have said something, or done something to distract him. As it was, she could only remain silent and still as he spoke to Joseph. 

“I don’t know. Honestly it could be a while at this rate. I’m not pushing as hard as I could. I’m letting her rest sufficiently, keeping her fed and hydrated… I have no doubt I’ll reach her eventually, but it’s going to be a longer process than usual,” John said patiently, and frowned at the response. “Yes, of course. I apologize for not updating you, but I didn’t think I had anything to tell you yet.”

They both knew eventually Joseph was going to want her back. She was only with John because she’d happened to be picked up by his patrol rather than one of the others. She’d cursed her luck at first, and she was still torn about the confession, but now… Well, she’d much rather stay with John than go back and face Joseph again. 

John frowned more deeply, clearly not pleased with what Joseph was saying to him. “O-of course, Joseph. I’ll keep you informed, but it may not happen by then--” He winced. “Yes, Joseph,” he said. 

John was quiet a long moment, listening to the murmur of his brothers voice before he finally mumbled a goodbye and set the phone back on the cradle. Sighing deeply in mingled relief and annoyance, he flopped back on the pillows and threw an arm across his eyes. 

“Well that was fucking stressful,” he said. 

“You’re telling me,” she agreed, scrubbing a hand over her face. “That man has some next level timing.”

John groaned. “You have  _ no _ idea.” He sighed, looking over at her. “I imagine you’ve gathered that he’s getting impatient to have you back.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you think it would make any difference if I told him I wanted to stay with you?”

John paused, his eyes searching her face. He seemed genuinely surprised. “Do you?”

Olivia pushed herself up on one elbow, frowning at him. “I just said so, didn’t I? I mean, I’m still not sure what to think about the… stuff… in the basement, but…” She shrugged, giving him a little, crooked smile. “I guess you were right when you said we were bonding.”

He smiled slightly, reaching over and twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “Unfortunately I don’t think it  _ would _ make much difference. Joseph tends to take away things I get attached to.” There was a note of bitterness in his voice.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know if I should be annoyed that you think I’m one of your ‘things’ or flattered that you’re apparently attached to me.”

John chuckled, sliding an arm around her and pulling her to his chest. “You really ought to curb that smart mouth,” he said.

“You like it,” she replied, nuzzling his neck. 

“Joseph won’t,” he sighed.

“Maybe he’ll send me back to you for reeducation,” she teased, nipping his skin.

John pushed her back gently to make her look at him, his expression serious. “No. He’ll decide I failed, and try something else. It wouldn’t be good for either one of us. I… wouldn’t want you sent to Jacob. Or Faith.”

She bit her lip. “Faith… seems nice, though.”

“She is. Until she isn’t anymore,” he said, grimly. “Her territory refines the Bliss. The bullets that we got you with are one thing, but there are higher concentrations. Enough of that shit is like a chemical lobotomy, and permanent.”

Olivia shuddered at that, and looked down. “I just wish I could stay here,” she said. 

John was quiet for a long moment. “Even though I hurt you?”

“Well, that’s,” she trailed off. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s trauma bonding in some ways, yeah.” She laid back on the pillows, stroking a fingertip over the still-tender tattoos he’d given her. “You also weren’t wrong. It was cathartic.” She smiled a bit, looking over at him again. “And cooking for me and taking me flying were nice.” She reached over, lacing her fingers in his. “And talking. I get the feeling we both needed a bit of that.”

He didn’t look at her at first, instead gazing up at the ceiling as if searching for something to say. “What if I… still wanted to hurt you?” He said it quietly, not meeting her eyes.

A little thrill of nervousness curled in her belly, and she took a breath, watching him. “I guess that would depend on context.”

John darted a glance over, clearly not sure he’d heard her right. “What?”

She bit her lip, organizing her thoughts. “Obviously I don’t want you to really injure me, but… if it was with a safeword and precautions, well, we could talk about it.”

He looked over at her, his expression wary. “You don’t think I’m a… a monster?”

His question, and the hesitancy and pain behind it made her deeply sad. If anyone in the world needed a good therapist it was John Seed, and between his awful childhood, his debauched adulthood, and his current standing with Joseph’s cult, she doubted he’d had so much as a guidance counselor’s appointment in his life. She reached up, running a hand over his cheek. “No,” she said. 

He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. She knew he was still unstable at best; she had no illusions that her kindness would cure him in any way, shape, or form, but he’d also had far too little of kindness in his life. If she could give him a little, hopefully it would at least ease some of the pain that drove him.

He put his hand over hers. “I’m not always sure, myself,” he said. 

She didn’t know what to say to that. She could reassure him, certainly, but her words could only ring hollow. She hadn’t known him long, and the circumstances hadn’t exactly been conducive to the healthy development of a relationship of any real sort. Even so, she understood him, if only a little. 

They stayed that way in silence for long moments before he opened his eyes, the gleam back finally. “Well,” he said, “We have a little time before Joseph insists on taking you home. If nothing else I’m sure we could find ways to amuse ourselves together.”

Olivia smiled. “I seem to recall you saying night flying was nice. And bragging about having a jacuzzi.” 

John chuckled, pulling her hand up to kiss her knuckles. “Well,” he said. “The jacuzzi is currently closer.”

They managed not to talk about Joseph the rest of the day, instead spending their time enjoying the luxuries John’s home offered. Much as Olivia would have liked a drink, she had to admit she felt better without it. She joined John in the kitchen and helped make dinner, and it almost felt normal. It was that, more than anything, that started weighing on her. How easy would it be to get used to this? To just go along, accept Eden’s Gate as a fact of her life, even if she didn’t really believe it. How long before she didn’t  _ want _ to leave anymore? Certainly, she didn’t have anywhere to go, and no one waiting for her, but she had been kidnapped. Taken by Joseph without so much as a word, with nothing to her name but her necklace and the memories it held.

John clearing his throat interrupted her thoughts. “You’ve been staring at your coffee like you expect to find the answer to the meaning of life in it,” he observed. He was smiling, but his tone was almost worried. 

Olivia shook her head. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

“I could see that,” he said with a chuckle. “Care to share with the rest of the class?”

She hesitated, and knew the apprehension showed on her face when his expression turned guarded. 

Steeling herself, she pushed the mug back and met his eyes. “What happened to everyone else from the bar?” she asked. 

John frowned just a little. “Why?”

“Because, I want to know what would have happened to me if Joseph hadn’t decided I was special,” she said.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Well, you wouldn’t have gone to Jacob. He wants people he can train as soldiers,” he began, reluctantly. “That’s not you. The ones he picked will be back at his compound. The ones that went to Faith are at hers, and the ones I got are at mine.”

“That’s not really an answer,” she pointed out. 

John frowned, that hard light coming back into his eyes. She knew he didn’t want to be having this conversation. “Jacob’s making an army. He’s grooming them to fight, and survive, and protect Eden’s Gate. The strong become his Chosen. The weak usually wind up target practice or chew toys for the Judge wolves,” John said, his voice even. “Faith introduces her picks to the Bliss. Most everyone goes about in a happy little haze, and the ones that don’t get the upped dose so they’ll be more… pliant.” He pulled in a breath. “Mine… go through confession and atonement. Some are messier than others.”

She swallowed, looking down. “That’s…”

“Necessary,” John interrupted, his tone firm. “All of us have safe places to keep those we bring in. Not all of the sinners appreciate it, I daresay most of them don’t. But they’re sheltered, fed, clothed, and protected. And when the Collapse happens, they’ll understand.”

“Joseph is all right with Jacob just… killing people he thinks are weak?” she asked. She didn’t want to question John’s practices more closely just then. She’d seen them firsthand after all, and knew it could have been much worse.

“He considers the sacrifice necessary. We’re preserving those we can, but Jacob is tasked with training the ones who will protect us all. He can’t afford to allow weakness or rebellion into his ranks.”

She digested this for a long moment. “You know I still don’t believe,” she said. 

John gave her a little smile. “I know. I’m coming to think you won’t until the Collapse happens.”

“Even then,” she said quietly, “I can’t… I can’t be okay with all of this violence and killing.”

He searched her face for a long moment. “You know how people are,” he said. “You know just like I do. You know how cruel they can be. How terrible the world is. How it treats those who are vulnerable.” He reached over to her, brushing his fingers across her shoulders where he knew the scars were. “After you’ve seen it firsthand, you still feel sorry for them?”

Olivia nodded. “I do, John. I know there are terrible people, and terrible things happening, and that everything is messed up. I just think, well, burning it all down will catch the victims in the fire, too.”

He gave her a small, sad smile. “I think in that case I would have considered it a mercy.”

His words made her gut twist. It hurt to hear the sentiment, and it was sad and terrible that he would have been at that point because of what happened to him, what had been done to him.

It was even worse realizing she knew precisely how that felt.

She looked down, squeezing her hands in her lap and blinking to keep from letting the threatening tears fall. 

John slid a hand over her cheek, gently. “You don’t have to be strong for me, Olivia,” he said. “We’re past that. I’ve seen you, remember? You’re soft, and kind, and that’s not a flaw. Once things are over we’ll need people like you to help us remember what it’s like to be human.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to her hair. “That’s why God brought you to us,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes, letting herself be comforted by his presence, his touch, his words. He was a broken, dangerous man, but they understood each other. With all that was going on around her, that felt like it might be enough. 

He pulled back after long moments, stroking her cheek. “I want to tattoo you again,” he said.

Olivia wiped her wet eyes and managed to give him a little smile. “What’s this one? Penance for this morning? Or the jacuzzi?”

John chuckled. “Well, there’s that sass again.” He shook his head, giving her an almost wistful smile. “No. Joseph’s going to take you back the day after tomorrow and… if you would let me, I’d like to give you a tattoo he’s not going to see.”

She could feel the blush rising in her cheeks, and covered it with a chuckle. “Nice to be asked this time,” she said, glancing again at her arm. “And I have to admit you do good work.”

He smiled, kissing her. “I’ll do my best work for you, darling.”

“Do we have to go back downstairs?” she asked. That, at least, had her feeling apprehensive. She supposed that was the point of the room; everything designed to unsettle and break the object of the confession down. Understanding, however, didn’t make her any more eager to return. 

“We can go to my room,” he told her. “I can set things up there. The confessional is for confessions, and we’ve finished that.” He nuzzled into her hair. “If that’s a yes?” he asked.

Olivia leaned into his touch, knowing what he most wanted to hear. “Yes,” she said. 

It didn’t take him long to have everything at the ready. She sat cross-legged on the bed, watching him arrange ink and alcohol. He glanced up at her, a playful gleam in his blue eyes. “I need to see the canvas,” he purred. “I haven’t quite decided where to put this yet, so let’s undrape everything.”

She gave him a dubious look. “What, I’m getting naked and you’re going to sit there in your designer jeans and expensive shirt? That hardly seems fair.”

John paused, putting down the tattoo gun with a grin. “Well, I suppose you  _ do _ have a point,” he said, and started unbuttoning his shirt. 

There was really nothing for it but to follow suit. There was something sexy and playful about watching each other shed garments one by one, in the name of fair play, of course. And she liked looking at John’s body, she had to admit. He was a lean and hard man, with a pleasing definition to his build. He had more than a few tattoos, running from his fingers, up his arms, and along his torso, including a flower cross over a crown that dipped low enough on his abdomen to be mostly under his jeans. 

As she removed the last strip of clothing from her hips, he beckoned her to him. 

“I could get used to this,” he said. 

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised you aren’t,” she replied. 

John shrugged. “My duties don’t typically endear me to others,” he said, almost wistfully. “And Joseph frowns on fornication.”

Olivia smiled a bit. “Nobody’s perfect.”

He chuckled. “True enough.” He paused, sweeping his gaze over her thoughtfully. “Lie down, darling. On your back.” He patted the bed in front of him. 

She’d agreed to it, and so she did as he asked, stretching out and watching him hover over her. He traced a line down the curve of her hip with one finger and paused, low on the right side of her pelvis. “I think right here.” He glanced up at her face. “Are you ready?”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

He grinned. “And spoil the surprise?”

It seemed to be all the answer she was going to get. She stayed still as he wiped her skin, the alcohol chilling her briefly, and took up the stylus, loading it with black ink. 

He wasn’t quite as rough as he’d been in the confessional, but the process still stung hotly as he etched lines in her skin. At first she tried to bite back the whimpers and yelps that tried to claw their way out of her throat, but he noticed her expression and paused.

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” he said softly, leaning down and kissing her forehead. “You’re safe here. Don’t fight the pain, just let it happen. Let yourself feel it and let it go.”

When he started again, she didn’t try to suppress herself. It wasn’t as painful as the first tattoo, either physically or emotionally, but still he occasionally found a spot that made her gasp or whimper. Not concentrating on keeping silent shifted her focus. Instead of staring at the ceiling beams, she watched John’s face as he worked. 

His expression was as soft as she’d ever seen it. He seemed calm, focused, enjoying the art of what he was doing. She’d half expected him to be distracted by having her stretched out naked in front of him, but he seemed fully absorbed in his work, carefully marking each line and curve, his hands steady and sure. A little smile played at the corners of his mouth.

After long moments of near silence between them, he finally lifted the stylus and sat back with a satisfied sigh. “There we are,” he said softly. Gently, he wiped away the ink and blood from her skin, and smiled at her. “Take a look.”

Olivia pushed herself up on her elbows to see what he’d done. 

It was a dove in mid flight, a Bliss blossom held in its beak. The piece was rendered more delicately than she would have expected on first meeting him. There was a minimalistic elegance to it in the sweeping curve of the composition that followed the line of her hip and the barely-there shading that made it look almost like filigree.

John watched her, anxiously. “Do you like it?”

She smiled at him. “I do,” she said. “It’s beautiful, John.”

“I told you I’d do my best work for you,” he said. He trailed a hand lightly up and down her thigh. “I hope you’ll think of me when you see it.”

She reached up, stroking her hand over his cheek. “I’ll see you again, John. Maybe--maybe Joseph will let me come back.”

“Maybe,” he said. He didn’t sound very optimistic. 

“In the meantime, we have tonight, and tomorrow,” she pointed out. 

That at least got him to smile. “That we do,” he said. 

“So, let’s make good use of it,” she said, pulling him toward her. 

“Excellent idea,” he purred. Then, his lips found hers and there was no more conversation. 


	16. A Cage Or The Heaviest Cross Ever Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Olivia make as much of their last day together as they can.
> 
> Olivia meets Jacob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut! Rough smut, at that! You've been warned!

The next day slipped away all too quickly. 

John made an effort to insure it was a pleasant one for both of them at least. Between dining together, enjoying all the luxuries he’d packed into his home, and a surprise gift of some undoubtedly expensive clothes, it was honestly one of the better days Olivia could remember having in the last couple years. She knew John was showing off, but he seemed so pleased when she liked something that it was hard to accuse him of true selfishness. For all his grand gestures and attention-seeking, he seemed in some moments less a force of ego, and more like he was begging for approval. She could understand the impulse, particularly knowing his past. Being so starved of any kind of positive attention or encouragement could make one desperate for even scraps of affection and approval. It was why John was so reluctant to push back against Joseph. He didn’t dare do anything to jeopardize the already minimal praise he got from his older brother. 

Olivia didn’t share her thoughts. She would be going back to Joseph the next day, and so she wanted things to be pleasant that night. And, really, John was a smart man. He probably already knew, even if he would never in a thousand years admit it.

He made good on his promise to take her flying at night as well. From above the valley looked like a velvet blanket strewn with diamonds, as though the sky above them had grown to encompass everything, leaving them suspended in a star-scattered void. There wasn’t as much of the banter and stunts this time. Instead, they watched the beauty of the world, far away and cloaked in night, and only remarked quietly on how peaceful it looked. Even with the dots, here and there, of fires she feared were Joseph’s doing in one way or another.

When they landed he lifted her down from the plane’s wing and kissed her hard, all teeth and tongue and need. One hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back roughly. When she gasped, he gave a low groan of arousal.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he breathed.

“You have me tonight,” she said, gently hooking her nails in his sides, making him shudder. 

His only reply was a growl and a tightening of his grip.

They made it into the living room at least. Olivia tried to draw him up the stairs to his room, but John’s patience, it seemed, was at an end. He ripped his shirt off, a couple buttons rolling away across the floor. He didn’t give her time to respond before he was yanking at hers, his questing hands rough and demanding. 

She tried to keep up with him as best as she could, fumbling with his belt and jeans, moving to help him drag fabric off her body. The moment he was satisfied there were no barriers between him and what he wanted, he was on her. 

She landed heavily on the plush couch, John’s lips at her throat, his hands squeezing her breasts almost too tightly. Olivia wrapped her arms around him, digging her nails into his back as he pushed himself inside her all at once, dragging a soft yelp from her as her body adjusted to the intrusion.

There was a hard sort of primal pleasure in John’s eyes as she writhed, clearly he was turned on by the play of dominance and pain. The look reminded her of how he’d watched her during the confession before she’d said yes, and that frightened her a little. He’d admitted his sadistic leanings and she’d accepted them, but there was still the potential for something unpredictable to come out of the mercurial Baptist. Much as it frightened her, however, she had to admit the danger was also exciting. Maybe she wasn’t much more stable than he was. 

John leaned down, giving her a soft kiss, though the grin he gave her afterward was wicked. “You might be sore tomorrow.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes, digging her nails into his back and watching him react with pleasure. “I’ll be disappointed in you if I’m not.”

“Oh, darling. You are a reckless one,” he purred. “I just want to break you again and again.” He gave her a wink.

He thrust so hard it jarred her entire body, knocking her grip loose from his back. She scrambled to grab his shoulders, but he caught her wrists, pinning them to the couch with an iron grip. She had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist and hang on for dear life as he pounded into her. 

John didn’t let up once he began, his hips slamming into hers, his hands holding her wrists like a vise. Everything was almost too much. Too fast, too hard, too deep, mingling pleasure with pain and overloading her senses. It was so overwhelming that she didn’t realize she was close to climax until the wave crashed down upon her and she was screaming her throat raw. 

She came back to herself slowly, lying dazed and limp under him as he panted, rolling to one side so he didn’t collapse on her. Sweat dotted both of them, and her legs felt like rubber. John’s hair had fallen over his forehead, straying into his eyes. He nestled next to her comfortably, pulling her back to his chest and spooning her.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, kissing her shoulder. 

Olivia swallowed, somehow finding the strength to rub at her wrists, John’s handprints already bruising there. “That was--that was intense,” she said, her head still feeling fuzzy. She swallowed against the soreness of her throat. “Your guards probably think you murdered me.”

John chuckled, nuzzling into her hair. “Oh, they probably think it was just the last bit of your confession,” he said. “If they even heard anything. It’s pretty soundproof here.”

She felt heavy and wrung out, and little aches had already begun here and there. “I’m not sure I can walk.”

“You  _ did _ ask for it,” he told her, reaching up to the back of the couch and pulling a throw over them. He slid his arm around her waist. “I’m going to miss you.”

“Maybe Joseph will let us visit?” she ventured, lacing her fingers in his. “I could ask.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. You’re important. He’s not going to want to let you out of his sight if he can help it.”

She snorted. “I’m not important, John. I’m a depressed widow you guys picked up in a bar. Hell, that’s halfway to being a case study in useless.”

John squeezed her against him. “‘They have eyes and see not, they have ears and hear not,’” he murmured, kissing her hair. “The butterfly that flaps its wings may never see the storm that happens because of it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t important.”

Olivia laughed softly. “That’s hard to prove, isn’t it?”

“Now we’re back to you being a skeptic,” he said. “Fire and brimstone could be coming out of the sky and you’d want to debate about the probability of an undiscovered volcano before you’d admit it’s a miracle.”

“I can’t argue against that,” she admitted, with a yawn. “You’ve certainly got my number.”

John was quiet for a long moment. “I told you,” he said softly. “I told you I knew you better than you thought. Better than Joseph does.”

She leaned her head back against his chest. “Yeah,” she said. “You were right.”

“Admitting I’m right twice in a row?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. “Now  _ that _ is a miracle.”

“Oh, fuck you,” she mumbled, unable to entirely suppress her chuckle. 

John kissed her ear. “Anytime you’re up for it, darling.”

She wasn’t sure when she’d drifted off, but when she woke up sunlight was streaming through the windows. She and John were still on the couch in a tangle of limbs, a throw blanket draped over them. She didn’t hear anyone moving around the house, so she supposed that his Chosen hadn’t come in yet. She hoped not, anyway. Not only would it be awkward, but she had to assume their primary loyalty was with Joseph, who probably wouldn’t be pleased with their activities. She shifted, and aches flared through her thighs, hips, and between her legs. It had been quite a workout. 

John’s eyes blinked open blearily. “I--we’re still in the living room,” he mumbled. 

Olivia smiled. “Yeah. I couldn’t walk, remember? We must have fallen asleep.”

He nodded, pushing himself up and yawning. “I guess we did.”

She scooted so he could sit up, and glanced around the room, smirking slightly. They’d left a trail of clothing from near the front door to the couch. A few blue buttons from John’s shirt lay on the hardwood, testament to his impatience. There were also purpling bruises around her wrists, though those could be passed off as marks from restraints during confession, should Joseph ask. 

“I had a nice time last night,” she said, surprised that she meant it so sincerely. 

John grinned, cupping her cheek with one hand and kissing her. “So did I.”

She leaned into the touch, sighing. She was about to say something more when they heard the sound of tires on gravel outside, and they both froze. 

John was up in an instant, darting across the room to peer out of the front window. 

“Oh,  _ shit _ !” he hissed, rounding on her with his eyes wide. “It’s Jacob. Grab the clothes, run upstairs and get dressed, wait a few minutes to come down after I do. I’ll try to stall him.”

In another situation it might have been funny, the two of them scrambling naked through the living room, scooping up articles of clothing that had been flung here there and everywhere, and scurrying up the stairs like a pair of canoodling teenagers trying to hide their activities. Instead, her heart was pounding as she ran into the bedroom she’d been ostensibly staying in, shoving her clothes into a corner in the dresser, and grabbing fresh ones. As she ran to the bathroom to at least run a comb over her hair and a washcloth over her skin, she could hear John flinging open dressers and thundering around his room, moments before the doorbell rang. 

She held her breath as it rang again, and she heard John walking down the stairs at a much more normal pace, his voice tinged with annoyance, as though he’d been woken up rather than caught with his pants down. 

“Coming, coming, what time do you think it is?” he called. 

She took a moment to collect herself. Jacob, he’d said. The older brother. She wondered what he was there for. Worried, she pulled on her clothes and stretched her legs, trying to both look presentable and not walk like she’d been thoroughly fucked the night before. Eventually, she had to go downstairs, though she did so reluctantly. 

Jacob was taller than John, with red hair shaved on the sides and a beard that grew just a little wilder than John’s. He was powerfully built and dressed like a soldier with dog tags around his neck and a camo jacket. 

He was also flanked by two large, yellow-eyed wolves, their foreheads painted with a red cross. 

John had managed to get some jeans on, as well as a nice shirt, though it was untucked. His hair was still mussed, and his feet were bare, but he looked like he could plausibly have just gotten out of bed alone. He wore a sour expression as he regarded his brother. 

“Were the Judges necessary?” John demanded, glaring at the wolves. 

Jacob chuckled, shrugging. “Joseph’s pet project isn’t the only thing I’ve got going on today,” he said, glancing up at Olivia as she came down the stairs. “Dropping these two off at Joseph’s too. Apparently there’s some gaps in his security at the house.” Jacob’s blue eyes, the same color as Joseph’s rested on her, leaving her in no doubt that she was the thing that needed securing.

John huffed. “You didn’t need to come by,” he said. “I was going to bring her to Joseph myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jacob said, stroking his beard, his eyes drifting from John, to her, and back again. “But, well. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” He regarded her, looking her up and down with a small smirk that said he was unimpressed. “Awful little thing to cause such a ruckus over. Between you and Joe being all worked up I was expecting something a little grander.”

Olivia felt a rush of heat creep up her cheeks, but she saw John’s sharp warning glance and bit her tongue. She swallowed, lowering her head a little, submissively. “I-Is he here to take me, John?” she asked. 

“Yep,” Jacob said, before John could say anything. “Go pack up your stuff, pup. I’m taking you home to Joseph.”

Olivia looked at John, meeting his eyes. There was a little furrow between his brows, and his jaw twitched unhappily for a moment, before he put on his televangelist persona and gave her a hollow, beatific smile. “There’s a suitcase under the bed, go ahead and use that.” He looked as though he wanted to say something else but held back, instead nodding toward the stairs. “Probably shouldn’t keep Jacob waiting.”

She nodded, and trudged back upstairs. She’d hoped to have had time to at least say a proper goodbye, but it seemed that was going to be impossible. She bit her lip as her throat closed, and she blinked back the moisture that welled in her eyes. It was foolish to be so emotionally involved after such a short time, but even she had to admit that there was  _ something _ between herself and John. Something possibly dangerous and almost certainly unhealthy, but she was reasonably certain it was the most either of them had experienced in a long time. And now she couldn’t even say goodbye.

There was no point in procrastinating, so she packed up her clothes, as well as the shampoos, soaps, and tattoo care items in the suitcase. She’d managed to forget for a little while that she was essentially a prisoner, but Jacob had brought that knowledge back to the forefront. Along with the new layer of protection at Joseph’s house. She could possibly sneak past human guards again. She’d never get past a wolf undetected, let alone two. 

John was still blankly calm when she returned with the suitcase. She’d thought briefly of calling him from upstairs to ‘help’ carry it down, so that she could get in a word or two, but something told her it would be Jacob who came instead. Indeed, when she got to the bottom of the stairs, he took the case from her. 

“Alright, daylight’s burning. Let’s get going,” he said blandly. 

Olivia nodded, turning away from him to face John. With Jacob unable to see her expression, she gave John a small, soft smile. “Thank you, John,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and neutral.

He gave her that empty, masklike smile again and stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Of course, my child,” he said. He squeezed her shoulders tightly, holding on just a little too long before he released her, as if he didn’t want to let go. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, and gave him a cheeky grin and wink before she schooled her features back into calm and followed Jacob. 

John didn’t come outside with them. She supposed that might raise questions in Jacob’s mind, but still it made her a little sad. 

Outside there was yet another wolf, this one larger and darker in color, sitting next to what was presumably Jacob’s truck. He hefted her suitcase into the back and whistled, the two wolves jumping in with it. 

She glanced up at Jacob. “Can I pet them?”

He chuckled. “Not if you want to keep your hand,” he said. He looked at her thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers at the largest wolf, who trotted over obediently. It sat, looking up at him expectantly. Jacob put a hand on Olivia’s shoulder, patting her like a dog. It was clearly a signal of some sort, as the wolf eyed her, leaning forward to sniff at her. “That one you can touch,” he said. “She’s mine.”

Carefully, she reached forward, running a hand over the shaggy head and burying her fingers in the thick fur. The wolf sat calmly as she did so. She knew better than to think the beast was her friend; a word from Jacob and she’d certainly tear Olivia to shreds, but nonetheless it was at least an interesting experience to stroke a wolf. 

Jacob opened the passenger’s side door and motioned to her. “Sit in the middle,” he instructed. Giving the wolf another scratch, she did as she was told, climbing in and scooting over. As she did so, the wolf leaped in, taking a position next to her on the seat. Jacob slammed the door and came around to climb in the driver’s side. 

Olivia tried not to look like she was staring at John’s house as they pulled away. It was easy enough to pretend she was paying attention to the beast beside her. She saw John in the window, watching as the truck left him behind. 

There was silence at first, as Jacob maneuvered the truck down the winding roads, and she tried to distract herself by sinking her fingers into the wolf’s fur. She tried to appear indifferent to leaving John’s ranch behind, though dread pooling in her stomach at the thought of facing Joseph again made her want to run back all the more. It startled her when Jacob finally spoke.

“So,” he said, much too casually. “John seemed… reluctant to let you go.”

It felt like a trap. Either he knew something, somehow, or wanted her to think he did so she’d give something away. She knew better than to underestimate him; so far the Seeds had been uncomfortably observant, and she saw no reason to think he wouldn’t be as well. 

She shrugged. “Must be my sparkling personality,” she replied disinterestedly. 

Jacob chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m just curious. After all, I never said a word to Joseph about Holly.” He glanced at her sidelong, clearly interested in her reaction. Was he trying to make her jealous?

She gave him a flat look. “Oh. My. You mean that the handsome, tattooed, designer-jeaned lawyer with the $400 haircut and expensive cologne wasn’t an untouched virgin when I met him? My world-view is destroyed. However will I recover?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Well. You’re a little firecracker, aren’t you? Maybe not as weak as I thought.”

She frowned slightly. “That’s right. You’re the soldier.”

“That I am,” he said pleasantly. When she didn’t say anything more, he raised an eyebrow. “That all?”

“I guess so,” she said.

“The note of disapproval in your voice says otherwise,” he said. 

“Why do you care what I think?”

Jacob chuckled. “I don’t,” he said simply. “But John and Joe had bugs up their asses over you, and that I  _ do _ care about. So I want to know why they’re so interested. So I know if you’re an asset or a distraction.”

“So you can decide if you want to kill me off like one of your soldiers that doesn’t make the cut?” she asked sharply, before she could hold herself back.

He smirked. “Joe wants you back alive, so not today.”

Olivia looked away from him, going back to running her fingers through the wolf’s fur. “Well, I don’t know. Joseph thinks God has some purpose for me.”

“And John?” There was a note of amusement in his voice that made his face all the more punchable, even when she wasn’t looking at him. 

“I’m pretty sure John thought about taking me apart to figure out what Joseph sees in me,” she said. It was the truth; she was certain that had been one of the things on the table when he’d first gotten hold of her. And all things considered, John was unpredictable enough she couldn’t wholly rule out the possibility of it becoming an option again if things hit him wrong. 

Jacob grunted. “Probably,” he said. “Still, you seem to be in pretty good shape for having been in his tender loving care this long. Pretty sure Joe was afraid he was flensing you by now.”

“Joseph told him to be careful,” she said, rubbing at the Eden’s Gate tattoo on her forearm.

“John does get carried away,” he said. “So I’m glad I didn’t have to mop you up into the truck. But like I said, them being this interested is a little strange.”

“You’ll have to ask Joseph,” she sighed, giving him a weary look. “Because I’m going to be honest, I don’t know why. And John…” She shrugged, looking away. “He understood some things. We talked.”

“Hm,” Jacob mused. 

They were silent the rest of the drive, which wasn’t much longer. She’d watched them get closer and closer to the giant statue of Joseph, and soon they were turning up a driveway she was all too familiar with and pulling up in front of the white house she’d hoped to leave behind days ago. 

“Well, welcome home, pup,” Jacob said, as Joseph stepped out of the house and fixed his blue eyes on her.

Olivia’s heart sank as she felt the cage door swing closed once again. 


	17. You Don't Have To Explain, I Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia is delivered back into the waiting arms of Joseph Seed, and they find they have more in common than either thought.

Jacob parked the truck without another word, and got out, giving a wave to Joseph as he rounded the front. Sighing, Olivia reached for the passenger’s door, but the moment she did, the wolf beside her gave a low growl, showing sharp, white fangs. Nervously, she withdrew her hand, and the growling stopped. Apparently she wasn’t allowed out of the vehicle without permission. Unhappily, she realized she was probably going to have to get used to that sort of thing. She was probably lucky no one was fitting her with a tracking collar. Yet, at any rate. 

Jacob apparently noticed her expression as he opened the door for her, and smirked as the wolf jumped out ahead of her. He didn’t comment, but his amusement made her want to kick him in the crotch. She didn’t imagine that would go over very well with anyone present, so she kept her expression blank as she could as she climbed out of the truck, trying to avoid looking at him or Joseph. 

That became impossible quickly, however, as Joseph strode out to meet them. 

He embraced Jacob, pressing his forehead to his brother’s briefly in a warm greeting she’d not seen before. Then, he turned to her, taking her hands gently.

“Olivia. Welcome home, my child,” he said. His eyes darted over her, as though he were looking for anything out of place. Or perhaps bits missing. 

He looked expectant, so she forced herself to speak. “Hello, Father Joseph,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. She couldn’t quite meet his gaze. 

“It’s good to have you back. Come inside. Have you had breakfast yet?” She shook her head, and he nodded, glancing at Jacob. “Would you bring in her things, please, Jacob? And will you be joining us for breakfast?”

Jacob already had the suitcase in one hand, and whistled to command his wolves down from the bed of the truck. He shook his head. “Just doing the delivery,” he said. “I’ll hand the Judges over to the trainers, but I have some things to take care of this morning.”

“Very well then,” Joseph said. “Thank you, brother.”

“John didn’t like giving up his new toy,” Jacob smirked. Olivia grit her teeth, fighting not to glare at him. 

“I thought he would be reluctant,” Joseph replied mildly. He glanced over her again, his eyes pausing at her collarbone. The tattoo was mostly hidden by her shirt, but the edge of black ink and the red of irritated skin showed just a little. “But I feared that if I left Olivia there much longer he would get… carried away.” He put an arm around her shoulders gently, guiding her toward the house as though she was an invalid coming home from the hospital. 

Jacob chuckled as he followed them, but didn’t comment.

There was nothing for her to do but let Joseph propel her to the dining room and sit her down, and then wait for him to say his goodbyes to Jacob. The two seemed close in a way neither of them seemed with John. From what she’d seen John was intimidated by his brothers, and they in turn seemed a bit dismissive of him. Little wonder he was so attention-seeking.

She waited quietly as a woman brought out a basket of muffins and poured coffee, and eventually Jacob left and Joseph returned to her side. He seemed almost solicitous. Clearly he expected her to be rather more shaken by her experience with John than she was. 

He held her hands as he prayed over their food, and watched her as she sipped her coffee. 

“Are you well?” he asked finally. “I… asked John to take care, but I know that his methods are… aggressive.”

Involuntarily, she rubbed a hand over her forearm. “I-- I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t want to meet his gaze. Part of her was afraid that if she did, he’d know what had happened between her and John. 

He took her arm gently, pushing up the sleeve so that he could see the flower cross tattoo. He nodded, almost to himself. “This was during your confession?”

Olivia swallowed, nervously. “Y-yes.”

“And he marked you with your sin,” he said, reaching up to push her shirt aside to read the inscription on her collarbone. A smile ghosted over his lips. “Envy. A difficult sin to bear. It’s not often John inscribes a sin so prettily.”

“He wanted to take his time,” she said. She worried Joseph would get suspicious about things if she wasn’t careful. It was hard to tell what it would mean for herself or John if he thought there was attraction between them, but she was pretty sure he would entirely disapprove of them acting on it like they had. Considering what she’d seen and experienced thus far, she doubted it would be good for either of them. 

Joseph nodded. “I hope you don’t judge him too harshly,” he said. “The pain he inflicts is necessary. Confession without pain isn’t confession.”

“He told me,” Olivia said.

“And demonstrated, it seems,” he replied.

She nodded, looking away. 

Joseph reached up, turning her face gently to look at him. “‘Those God loves He chastens, and scourges every son He receives’,” he said. “It pains me to have to punish my beloved children, Olivia. It grieves me that it was necessary. I hope that you understand that.”

Olivia nodded again. She wanted to argue with him. After all, he had kidnapped her and was holding her prisoner, so to her way of thinking she’d done nothing wrong. On the other hand, she wanted him to believe she was suitably chastened so things didn’t escalate. 

He looked as though he expected her to argue, or at least to say something else. When she didn’t he continued. “What you did was dangerous,” he told her. “Beyond running away in the dead of night, you could have been hurt falling from the window, you could have run into a cougar, or some unbeliever with a gun. I was up all night worried that you’d been harmed.”

Despite herself, she  _ did _ feel guilty about that. His attachment to her was mostly coming from his conviction that she was somehow important, but there was also some sincere concern. If nothing else, he truly believed he loved her. “I’m sorry,” she said. 

Joseph smiled slightly, leaning forward and kissing her forehead. “It is all forgiven, my child. Perhaps it was for the best. After all, you’ve made your confession now,” he glanced down at her collarbone and then paused. 

For a moment she thought he was staring at her chest. It was unexpected; he’d been entirely appropriate with her from the first moment they met, the kiss aside. He’d never given her any impression he was leering at her. In fact she’d have been willing to lay money on his fixing his eyes somewhere on the ceiling if he came upon her improperly dressed. Staring at her breasts didn’t seem in character. Then, she followed his gaze. 

The shirt she was wearing was one of the ones John gave her, and as such the neckline wasn’t quite as high as the clothes she’d been wearing at Joseph’s. It was by no means immodest, but it wasn’t quite as covering, which meant her necklace had slipped out and lay in plain view.

Olivia froze, uncertain what to say. She wanted to shove the rings under her shirt again, hiding them away, but the damage was done. 

After a moment, Joseph looked up at her, eyes full of understanding. “Did you know that I was married once?” he asked softly. 

The question stunned her, and she shook her head mutely. 

He pushed up a sleeve, showing her his forearm. The tattoo there was the portrait of a beautiful, dark-haired woman, surrounded by flowers that resembled the Bliss blossoms. His fingertips trailed over the dark lines. “She was beautiful. And very kind,” he said. 

“I--I’m sorry,” she said softly. Without her quite meaning to, she’d grasped her necklace in one hand. “I… know what it’s like to lose someone.”

Joseph nodded. “I was--we were both young. Expecting our first child.” He gave her a small, wistful smile. “I was blessed. I didn’t realize at the time how blessed I was. Honestly it was terrifying. For me, at least. She always had faith we would make it.”

Olivia stayed silent, watching him as he spoke. It was much like that moment they had kissed, what seemed like months ago. There was a softness to him. As though the Father had faded and let the man through briefly. 

He took a long breath and continued. “She went to visit some friends, and… Her car was hit by a drunk driver. She was killed instantly. Our daughter…” There was the barest hint of falter in his voice. Hesitantly, Olivia reached across to him, curling her fingers around his hand. He paused, seeming almost surprised for a moment before he returned the grasp. “Our daughter was--it was too early. They did all they could, but… all that there was in front of her was a short lifetime of suffering, and all she would have was me. Who had nothing. Who was no one. In a world rotting away. I prayed, what else could I do? And I stopped the machines.”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. He was calm as he spoke. He’d long ago accepted what had happened, but it made her chest ache to know what he’d gone through. She couldn’t imagine how she could have made the choice he did, though in a way she understood. He saw it as a mercy. “I’m sorry, Joseph,” she said.

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” he quoted.

“Even if you believe that, it doesn’t make it easier,” she said.

He gave her a small, sad smile. “I do believe that,” he told her. “But… you’re right. There’s a measure of comfort in faith, but it doesn’t erase the pain.”

They sat in silence a long moment. He didn’t ask about her necklace, and she was thankful for that. He didn’t press her, which in the end was why she found her voice.

“I was sick,” she said softly. “The flu, or a bad cold I guess. John--my John-- he decided to go to the store for soup for me. He was always good to me.” She swallowed, darting a look up at him.

His gaze was warm and understanding. “You loved him very much,” he said. 

Olivia nodded. “My family, well. They weren’t very kind. John rescued me. He showed me how it could be with someone who cares. When he went to get soup he decided to walk. It was nice out, and just getting dark. It wasn’t a long walk, we did it all the time. I was sick, so after he left, I fell asleep.” She felt her throat close.

Joseph kept her hand in his gently. He didn’t interrupt, and didn’t try to rush her when she paused. She could feel his gaze on her, unhurried and not judging.

“It was a hit and run,” she said finally. “If they’d stopped and called someone…” Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to continue. “Or if I hadn’t fallen asleep… If I’d known he was taking too long and called…maybe...” She swallowed thickly, squeezing her eyes shut, feeling the tears spill over her cheeks. 

He pulled her to him, letting her head rest on his shoulder. “We cannot change what has gone past,” he said softly. “And even God will not. I asked myself a thousand times if it would have been different if I’d gone with her, if I drove instead, if I’d suggested her friends come to our home. All of my questioning and blaming myself changed nothing. All it did was let darkness take root in my heart.” He stroked her hair slowly.

“I know,” she said, taking a shaky breath. “I--people have told me it’s not my fault. I know it’s not my fault. It’s just hard to feel like that’s true.”

“Yes, I know. There are so many things our head can accept but our heart has a harder time with. And vice versa, I suppose. It took… well, a very long time for me to forgive myself. I know that you still don’t believe, but remember you have confessed. You can leave your burdens behind.”

She pulled back, looking up at him. “I don’t think it’s as easy as that.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t. But perhaps it could be a start. You just have to let it be.”

It was hard to know what to say to that, though it made a sort of sense. The confession with John had been cathartic in a way, and seemed to have loosened some of what she’d tried to bottle up for so long. It just took being kidnapped by a cult and tortured by a sadist who she then slept with to do it. Put that way, she wasn’t sure if she was dealing with her issues or just swapping them around. She supposed the important thing was that she was surviving.

She wiped her eyes. “Maybe.”

Joseph smiled slightly, clasping her hand in both of his. “Maybe is enough for now, lamb. I know the past few days have been… difficult.”

She dropped her gaze, hoping not to give anything away. “It… was. But John and I also talked,” she admitted. 

“He has a way of loosening tongues, yes,” he said calmly. “I’m not sure that anyone could keep a secret from John in the end. One way or another he’s always gotten the information he wanted from people. Before he was the confessor he was a lawyer. He has a way about him that makes people want to tell him their secrets, no matter how disturbing. He knew every indiscretion and depravity in some of the highest places in the states. He’s seen the worst humanity has to offer. It’s one of the reasons he can be so… enthusiastic… when it comes to confessions.”

“He told me a little about that,” she said. “Mostly that people were terrible.”

Joseph nodded. “He wasn’t always so… disillusioned. He was a kind and loving child. He knows better than most what the world does to those with a gentle spirit.”

Olivia dared a glance up. “Will--will I see him again?”

Joseph’s gaze turned thoughtful, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake. “Do you want to? Most people prefer to give him a wide berth after confession.”

She shrugged. “We talked,” she repeated. “There were things he understood.”

“He’s at my services when he isn’t otherwise occupied,” Joseph said, his expression still thoughtful, as though he were trying to puzzle out what she was thinking. “So yes, if you want to talk to him again, you’ll have opportunity.”

It might not have been wise to broach the subject, but she wanted to test the waters. Joseph was compelling, and it was easy to forget herself. It was easy to be taken in by him and forget the fear she saw in John’s eyes when Joseph made his displeasure known. John was dangerous, there was no doubt about that, but Joseph was much more frightening. 

“I’d like to,” she said. 

Joseph merely inclined his head at that. If he had any sort of suspicions, he certainly didn’t show it. “I’m glad you’ve begun to form bonds here. I hope you’ll come to see us as your family, as we already see you.”

Olivia frowned a little, looking down. She didn’t want to argue with him. After all, she was supposed to be humbled by her experience with John. 

Joseph tipped her face up. “Speak,” he said. “You weren’t punished for having your own thoughts. I want to hear your questions, your objections. The truth should have no reason to hide.”

She hesitated, but it was true he’d never gotten angry at her for expressing her doubts, only cursing or openly defying him by running away. “You kidnapped me,” she said. “It’s not exactly a solid basis for a positive relationship.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s good to see your time with John hasn’t broken your spirit,” he said. “And I do understand your concern. The circumstances were not ideal, I agree. I hope in time you will be able to forgive us and understand why it was necessary.”

“You told me why,” she said. “I just can’t agree with all the violence. Or Jacob killing people for failing his training. Or the rest. People are getting hurt and taken and I can’t be all right with that.”

Joseph’s look was thoughtful. “You did talk to John a bit, didn’t you?” he sighed. “I’m certain he also told you that while regrettable, such things are necessary.”

“He did,” she said. She knew if she pressed it, they’d just go around in circles again. “You said you wanted to know what I think, though. And I’m still having problems accepting everything.”

Joseph nodded, smiling slightly. “I know. But love is patient.”

That comment threw her, and she didn’t know what to say. She knew Joseph at least claimed to love her, and claimed there was something she was meant for. That gave him motivation enough to indulge her skepticism. She wasn’t sure how long his patience would actually hold, though. 

“Can’t you be patient with everyone else too?” she asked finally. 

Joseph sighed. “I wish that we could. I truly do. But the Collapse is soon, and we haven’t got that luxury. Perhaps after they see that we’ve saved them, but for now we do what we must.”

It was the answer she expected, for the most part, and there wasn’t any other argument she could come up with. All she could hope for was to keep on surviving, and hope there was someday an opportunity to… she wasn’t even sure anymore. Escape had proved more difficult than she’d expected, and there wasn’t anyone who might look for her, so there was no hope of being rescued. She could fight him every inch of the way, but to what end?

She took a breath. “I’m sorry I ran,” she said. “I still… have a lot of doubts, but I’ll try my best to understand.” She had no illusions of that making him trust her, but it was a start. 

Joseph smiled, cupping her cheek. “That is all I can ask,” he said.

And kissed her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow progress, but I'm trying to plug away at it as best I can!


End file.
